Morning
by Carson Dyle
Summary: What might life be like for the Cullens after the events of Breaking Dawn?  So many possibilities. This is one.
1. Human

_The Twilight universe has enriched my life in many unexpected ways, including the friendships that have resulted from a shared passion. This story is dedicated to a select group of people who – with __one, two, three, four__ . . . okay a lot of exceptions – may never even know it exists. That doesn't matter. The sentiment is the same._

_Any Twilight characters and concepts in __**Morning **__are the property of Stephenie Meyer. The rest is ©2010 by Carson Dyle. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without my express written authorization._

_The story was written for a simple reason. I missed the characters and wondered what life might hold for them two or three months after the events of __**Breaking Dawn**__. With no goal, no plot in mind, I simply listened in and found them taking me in surprising directions. If anyone is curious enough to come along, the journey starts here . . ._

Book I

Chapter 1

Human

I kept my head down watching one hiking boot carefully precede the other – regular steps, like anyone might make strolling through the woods. Anyone, that is, stupid enough to be trudging through the matted sponge that passes for terra firma in this part of Washington State. In an icy rain with wind gusts shaking even more water from the leaves above.

Me, it didn't bother. I focused on my feet and their effort to mimic a normal human tempo.

"What are you doing, Bella?"

The tone was low and casual, coming from 40 or maybe 50 feet behind me. It wasn't like I hadn't half expected something like this. I'd been steeling my resolve against it ever since leaving the house. Still, an instant Space Mountain plunge swooshed through my stomach before I could muster my defenses and go back to concentrating on not moving too gracefully.

"I'm walking," I said, knowing there was no need to shout. Almost too late, I remembered to stop breathing.

"Why?"

That had to be the single most frequent question to come out of his perfect mouth, and it was almost always aimed at me. He was so used to having access to everyone else's thoughts. I knew it sometimes drove him crazy not being able to read mine.

"I'm practicing being human," I said irritably. "It's not all that easy, you know. In fact, it's a colossal pain."

"No one said you had to do it," he answered quietly. I could hear him perfectly, though he'd made no effort to close the gap between us.

"Yeah, I do. It was Carlisle's idea and everyone else agreed with him. Even _I_ agree with him. It's just hard."

"Bella, look at me."

Another, unwelcome swoosh.

"Fat chance," I shot back.

Wasn't it enough to be blocking the smell of him, resisting the lure of a voice that wrapped around me with invisible tendrils, caressing, coaxing me to turn around? I wasn't about to let him use another one of his formidable weapons.

"Just go away, Edward. I need to do this on my own."

Ahead of me the path was blocked by a fallen cedar, victim of the erratic winds. I fought an almost irresistible urge to clear it in one graceful leap. Out of all my new-found abilities, that one gave me the biggest kick. I was pretty sure if you looked up "klutzy" in a dictionary, my name would be listed among the antonyms.

All the compliments about me being beautiful and gifted and strong meant nothing next to the simple fact that I could cross a room without eliciting guffaws. I couldn't get enough of demonstrating it to anyone who was allowed to witness that kind of thing.

I concentrated on gauging the best way over the tree trunk, the best _human_ way, since I was determined to keep up my method acting until I could pass for normal to the people in town. I approached my obstacle, a mere two feet off the ground, angled my body and swung my right leg over the top.

So far, so good. Grasping the rough bark in both hands, I brought my other leg over. There. Not too old Bella, not too new Bella. Just like a normal person. I brushed my hands on my jeans, and was about to continue when it occurred to me that Edward hadn't answered me.

I stood stock still, listening to the sounds of the forest. The plopping and pounding of rain, the occasional harsh rush of wind, the complaints of a few birds sheltering in a thicket. Nothing else. Was it possible that he'd actually done what I'd asked?

I turned then. The path behind me was relatively straight and clear, disappearing far away into a denser grove of hemlocks. No one was on it. My eyes scanned the trees, searching for some sign of movement or color that didn't belong there. The only motion came from the pushing wind; no sign of any living thing–or dead either, for that matter.

A sense of loss swept through me and I wilted a little. Ridiculous. I'd been fine before he showed up. He'd done what I wanted him to do and quit stalking me. So why did I feel like a part of me had just been peeled away?

I was rapidly losing even my lukewarm interest in doing what I'd told everybody I was willing to do. With a sigh, I scanned the forest one more time, finding nothing. Still, I wasn't going to accomplish a thing just moping around in the woods all day. I straightened my shoulders, turned around and came face to face with one Edward Cullen.

I jumped and maybe even gasped a little.

"Did I scare you?" he asked with a barely suppressed smile.

"No, of course, not," I blurted automatically. "It's just that I didn't see you. I didn't even hear you." Was something the matter with my cool new super powers? If I'd tried to jump over the tree trunk, would I have landed on my face? "How did you get around me like that, without me noticing?"

"Nothing could have been easier," he said, placing his hands on my shoulders. So far, he hadn't called me on the fact that I was attempting to look everywhere but at him. "I could see you were in the moment, perfecting your role as a normal teenager, one who would never dream a vampire was circling her."

I narrowed my eyes in suspicion, focusing somewhere past his left ear. "I thought you said I couldn't act."

"I stand corrected. You make a very convincing human-being."

"Really?" Maybe I could pull off this fiasco after all.

"Really. I was seriously considering taking you down and sucking every last drop of blood out of your delectable mortal body."

I knew he was trying to make me smile, but something in me, and I swear it's been going on almost from the first time we met, has this perverse way of taking everything he says and spinning its own interpretation. Not just his words, but his expressions, and gestures, the way he looks and sounds and smells. Pretty much the very fact that he exists is enough to get all my systems firing erratically, till I completely lose track of what I'm doing.

My eyes snapped up to his and immediately, I regretted ever wasting a moment looking anywhere else. They were golden, the brightest thing in the forest, the most beautiful thing in the universe. With a sigh, I relaxed into his arms and felt that peculiar sensation of almost unbearable excitement accompanied by an utter sense of peace and security.

If I could bottle this, I thought muzzily, I could–dare I say it–rule the world.

We stood like that for several minutes, perfectly content; then he kissed the top of my head and released me. "I want to talk to you before you go," he said, slipping an arm over my shoulder, guiding me back to the fallen tree.

Like everything else in the area, the bark was soaking wet, but we sat down anyway. He took my hand in both of his, fastening me with one of those just-try-to-look-away-from-me gazes he excels in.

"There is no precedent for you, Bella. You've bypassed stages of adjustment that take most newborns years, if they ever get past them at all. Why that should surprise me I don't know," he added, shaking his head. "You were never an ordinary human; it stands to reason you wouldn't be an ordinary non-human."

"Great. First I get to be a misfit in high school. Now I'm too weird to be a monster."

He went on as if I hadn't spoken. "You are the only one who knows what it's like for you, how difficult it might be to handle new situations. If you're uncomfortable going through with this, just say so. I'll deal with the rest of the family."

"Wait a minute," He looked surprised when I withdrew my hand from his grasp. "It sounds like you're not sure I can pull this off. Is that what you're thinking? If it is, you might as well come out and say it, because I'm getting the distinct impression you're trying to avert a disaster. I narrowed my eyes, accusingly. "I thought that's why we hunted last night–to help with the thirst, but apparently you're worried it might not be enough?

"What do you think is going to happen? I'll walk into a public place and be so overcome with all the juicy blood smells that I lose it completely? I can see the headlines now _Really Human Girl Gets Annoyed with Long Lines, Wipes Out Entire Department of Motor Vehicles_."

I barely registered the fact that he was looking at me as if I'd gone insane.

"Or it's always possible I could run across some poor person who smells as good to me as I do . . . did do. . . do do to you. If that happens, I'll probably just pull a Jasper and have an early lunch. " I knew I was spluttering, but the thought that he didn't trust me stung too much not to strike back. "How can you believe I would agree to do something that might endanger the family and Renesmee and you?"

"Are you finished?" His expression was intimidating, though I wasn't sure he meant it to be. "The answer to your question," he said evenly, "is that I don't."

"Don't what?" I said, losing the thread of my outrage.

"I don't believe you would do any of the things you so colorfully describe in your tantrum."

"You don't?"

"Nothing of the kind has ever entered my mind."

"It hasn't?" I blinked, trying to decipher his hooded gaze.

"No, and if you can string together more than two words, perhaps you can tell me where you get your preposterous ideas. Do you think you can manage that?'

"I don't know."

"Better."

He was statue still. I knew he could remain like that until he got what he wanted. I took a breath and the sudden influx of his fragrance was oddly calming. "You're obviously trying to talk me out of going," I began. "And all this stuff about how different I am, about nobody knowing what I might do . . ."

"Bella," he said, exasperated. "If I'd had any doubts about your self-control, would I have agreed to let you go in the first place?"

"I wouldn't think so, no," I conceded. "But then what's all this business about how much I can and can't handle and how 'uncomfortable' I might be?"

He ran an agitated hand through his hair, his teeth gritted. When he looked at me–for all the expressiveness of his incredible eyes–I couldn't quite tell whether he wanted to kiss me or kill me.

"Did it ever occur to you that I might mean exactly what I was saying? You seemed to be having second thoughts about what was a totally unnecessary exercise in the first place. I wanted you to know I'd back you up if you'd prefer not do it. Period."

"Oh . . . okay." I digested that for a minute. "I was afraid you were being cryptic again. What gave you the idea I was having second thoughts anyway?"

"Oh, I don't know," he said, rolling his gorgeous eyes. "Maybe because you didn't take a car or because you're not traveling with the speed you're capable of or because you look like you're on your way to the gallows or because you were secretly glad I followed you. Pick a reason, any reason."

I smiled despite the sarcasm. "That doesn't count. I'm always glad to see you," I lowered my head to hide a non-existent blush. "Besides, I told you I was practicing to look like a regular person."

He lifted my chin with one elegant finger. "Not good enough."

Looking into the fathomless, golden depths of his eyes was like homing in on the center of everything, my everything. It was impossible not to tell the truth. "All right," I admitted. "Emotionally, I was starting to have a problem with the idea. When it first came up, I just thought it was a perfectly logical thing to do."

It had been a relatively sunny day, sunny for Forks anyway. We'd all been lounging around the Cullens' so-called dining table when somebody brought up the subject of rumors. Rosalie, of course.

"I was sitting at a traffic light in town the other day," she began, "and a woman in the crosswalk asked her friend 'whatever happened to Bella Swan?' The other one said she'd heard you were hiding out because you'd done something that Charlie would have to arrest you for if you showed your face in town. Then the first lady claimed she'd heard you'd left the area completely because you were being harassed by one of those 'creepy Cullens'."

Emmett snorted. "They got that part right." He was tipping back in a chair that I suspected cost a small fortune. The value must be based more on aesthetics than durability, as it looked like it might become a pile of kindling any minute. Esme turned a reproving glance on him – for the umpteenth time – and he brought the fragile legs back to the floor.

Beside me, Renesmee was nestled in Edward's lap. They were communicating silently, her dainty hand on his cheek. Either he hadn't heard that one, or he wasn't giving his brother the pleasure of a reaction.

"Some people know she's with Edward," Jasper pointed out. "Charlie's out in public all the time. You can't expect him not to brag about his granddaughter, and she has to have come from someplace."

"Charlie would never say anything to make people suspicious," I interrupted. "He's not stupid, and besides he always finds it easier not to talk."

"Oh, I know," Jasper assured me and turned his attention back to Alice's dainty legs, which were stretched across his lap. He seemed to find her wiggling toes endlessly fascinating.

"He's right though," Alice added. "Some people just realize they haven't seen you in a long time. Others know enough to connect you with Edward. Everybody has their own crazy theories about why you're never around."

"What's with these people?" Emmett grumbled. "Too much imagination–that's the problem."

Silently, I differed with him. They didn't even have enough imagination to suspect there were vampires under their noses.

"I heard a good one," Alice trilled suddenly. "It was in that little shop where I buy the candles. The owner mentioned how Chief Swan had helped her open the store when she locked her keys inside, and the woman she was helping said, 'Whatever became of his daughter?' Then the first one said she'd heard–from a very reliable source–that you'd been in a terrible accident and your face was so horribly mutilated you could only go out at night." She laughed with delight.

It seemed to me she was taking my disfigurement a little too gleefully, but all I said was, "That one at least makes sense. They've probably seen my husband's driving." Edward didn't take his eyes off Renesmee's, but there was a low growl coming from somewhere nearby. "Doesn't anybody suspect I've been abducted by aliens?"

"Oh, I'm sure somebody does." Rosalie scoffed. "What business is it of theirs anyway? It's just people trying to stir up trouble."

Esme reached out and patted her hand. "I don't think that's the intention. Humans are just naturally curious. When they don't understand something, they find explanations wherever they can. Still, it could be a problem."

At the head of the table, Carlisle had been sitting quietly, taking in the conversation, his expression thoughtful. At last he said, "It's not the melodramatic theories we need to worry about. What concerns me is that eventually someone will hit on the most common explanation, and that could mean trouble."

We all looked at him for a long moment. Esme understood first. "You mean that Bella might be in an abusive relationship."

He nodded. "We see it in emergency more than anyone would like to believe. If somebody were to suspect that's the case here–especially those people who know she's . . . with someone, they might alert social services."

"That's horrible," Alice whispered. "Poor Bella –a battered wife." She looked so genuinely stricken that I forgave her callousness about my mutilated face.

"I can swear to the battery," Emmett added helpfully. "Make the mistake of crossing the river at night lately and you'll hear what I mean–their place sounds like a combat zone."

Edward gave him a black look that wasn't as scary as usual since it was filtered through Renesmee's curls. I contemplated using my new-found strength to leap across the table and slap him senseless. As usual, Esme's approach was the most effective.

"That is in the worst possible taste, Emmett," she said in her soft, pleasant voice. "Wipe the smirk off your face and behave yourself."

"It doesn't even have to be a case of physical abuse," Carlisle said, still on topic. "Women can be prevented from going out of the house by a controlling husband or boyfriend."

"Edward–controlling?" Rosalie sneered. "Boy, that's a stretch."

I considered jumping to the defense, but remembering some of his over-reactions in the past – my poor disabled truck, the enforced slumber party with Alice – I figured he could handle a little constructive criticism.

Carlisle turned to me. "Bella, it might be a good idea for you to put in an appearance in town now and then. Just to diffuse the rumors. Would you be willing to do that?"

"Sure," I said. "What am I supposed to do while I'm there?" In my opinion, Forks had always been deficient in a lot of ways. Now that the whole world was open to me, I couldn't think of a thing it had to offer.

"Maybe run an occasional errand," Carlisle suggested. "It's best to avoid a protracted situation."

"Just do the usual, like shopping," Rosalie threw in. "Or you could pick up my dry-cleaning."

"Pick up your own dry-cleaning," Edward said. It was the first time he'd spoken since we'd been sitting here.

"I was just making a suggestion," Rosalie scowled at him.

"Cookies!" Renesmee crowed, apropos of nothing. Now that the deep communion with her father had been broken, she obviously had a new agenda.

"That's right!" Esme beamed at her. "I almost forgot – we were going to make a hundred cookies. Is that all right with you two?" she looked at Edward and me.

"Sure, I guess, but isn't that a tad excessive. I mean, she's the only one who can eat them."

Edward kissed our daughter on the nose, and put her down. She hurried around the table to Esme. "She's only eating two of them," he assured me.

"And who gets the rest?" Esme asked, bundling her close, which wasn't easy with all the ribbons and ruffles of dotted Swiss, adorning her little body. The whole world seemed intent on making her a girlie-girl, including Renesmee herself. She loved all that stuff. That's what comes from having a metrosexual daddy, I thought darkly.

"The sick people at the hospital," Renesmee announced solemnly. Then she broke into an angelic smile and blew me a kiss.

"Have fun, sweetie," I called, as she and Esme disappeared toward the kitchen.

Edward pulled his chair closer to mine and swung his arm around me. "Forget the dry-cleaning," he whispered, nuzzling my ear. I was in the process of forgetting my own name when Jasper brought up the obvious.

"Bella doesn't look the same."

Of course. The Cullens were so used to the new me. I'd even pulled off a visit to the old family retainer, Jason Jenks, but he hadn't known me as a human, so that didn't really count. It wouldn't help the rumor situation if I appeared in Forks looking like a completely different person to the people who'd known me before. In fact, it could make things infinitely worse.

"So she shows up wearing shades with a big scarf wrapped around her face."

"Oh, very helpful, Emmett." Rosalie's tone was withering. "Nothing screams 'I've been abused' like an ensemble by Emmett Cullen. The whole point is for people to see her looking healthy and happy, not like she's got something to hide. I frankly don't think it will work. She's just too beautiful."

Everyone else apparently took her words at face value. Their conversation continued to buzz around the table, but I wasn't listening. Being Rosalie, she might have meant the comment as a subtle dig–about what a troll I'd been before my transformation–but it didn't matter. Rosalie Cullen had admitted another woman was beautiful–and it was me! I chose to give her a warm, sisterly smile.

"Wait!" In the time it took to utter that single syllable, Alice had whisked her legs from Jasper's lap and was hopping up and down between their chairs. "I know exactly what to do – a reverse makeover! Oh, it will be so much fun, and you can help, Rose."

I shrank closer to Edward. An excited Alice was a dangerous Alice in my experience, mostly because it was impossible to stop her once she became entranced with an idea.

"We'll use makeup to put the human color back in her skin and something to dull her hair. She'll need to practice talking a little lower, and I found some new contacts on the internet that should hold up better than the last ones. They'll be here any day now."

"They won't be the right color," Edward warned her.

"Hmm, maybe not for you, but I bet they'll be close enough to fool people who haven't spent hours staring into her eyes. And clothes–we'll have to find some horrible old clothes that look like something she might have worn in high school."

I grimaced.

Like everybody but me had a clothes budget that could feed a third-world country. All the Cullens would have been breath-taking no matter what they wore, so what was the point?

The shirt Edward was wearing, for instance. I happened to know it cost more than what Charlie had paid for my truck, not that it wasn't nice. It was a deep bronzy color that caught the light, almost like his hair. Silk. From Milan of all places. And it fit him very well. I circled a button with my finger. So soft against his hard chest. But really, he would look good in anything . . . or nothing.

Edward had lowered his head watching the progress of my finger. Now he caught it in his mouth and at the same time snagged my eyes with one of those smoldering looks that blew the rest of the world away. It was like a bubble had formed around us, locking us in with only a bunch of wildly ricocheting emotions for company. I'm not sure how long we were in there before I heard Emmett calling, "Earth to Edward."

"What?" He was always faster to emerge from the bubble than I was. I just sat there feeling sorry for my finger. It had been having such a good time. Edward must have sensed my dejection, because he wrapped his hand around the lonely finger and held it to his silk-covered chest.

"You've been very quiet on this subject," Carlisle said. "What do you think about Bella going into town alone?"

"It doesn't matter what I think."

"Well, there's a first," Rosalie muttered.

"It doesn't matter what you think either," he said to her mildly. "This is Bella's decision. If she wants to do it, fine. If she doesn't, that's fine too."

"I'll give it a try," I offered. "There's the pink slip for the Ferrari. I've never had it put in my name, so I have an excuse to visit the DMV anyway."

That's how it had started a few days ago, and bright and early this morning, Alice had me smocked and scrubbed sitting in front of the lighted makeup mirror, while she and Rosalie whipped around me with pots and brushes and other instruments of subtle torture. The contacts were the worst. It felt like somebody was trying to cover my eyeballs in Saran Wrap.

"Just keep blinking. You'll get used to them. Wait–not too much. It's a good thing we're using waterproof mascara."

"Alice, I'm supposed to look like my old self, not a hooker."

"You will, you will," she chirped, confidently. "The trick is to make it appear that you're not wearing any makeup at all, and that takes a lot of product. What do you think now, Rose?"

Rosalie scrunched down and studied me with narrowed eyes. "It's good." She stood up, grinning. "Her skin really looks human."

I leaned forward, trying to see the mirror through my stupid contacts. They looked better than they felt, I decided. Definitely brown. And it was true; I didn't really look made up. There was a slight blush on my cheeks, and around it my skin looked more like porcelain than marble.

"Good job, guys," I admitted, removing the smock. I'd already dressed in the jeans and hoodie that Alice had allowed me to supply myself. I slipped into my trusty old anorak.

Where she thought I came up with these items, I don't know, and I wasn't about to tell her they'd been in an old suitcase in our cottage. Let her think she'd purged my wardrobe of every last off-the-rack horror, if it made her happy. She'd cry real tears if she knew what I sometimes wore to bed at night.

"OK, you've got your papers for the DMV, right? And, oh–your rings, Bella, you have to take off your rings."

"No . . . why?" I felt a sudden surge of something like panic.

"Too ostentatious–isn't that one of your husband's favorite word?" Alice held out her small white hand. "We don't want anything to stir up curiosity or supply a clue that just gets rumors started again. You need to be a really generic Bella."

She was right, of course. I just couldn't believe how hard it was to do. "The band," I insisted, "I'm wearing the wedding band."

"Let her keep it," Rosalie said, and I turned, surprised to see a look of sympathy on her usually haughty face.

"Thanks, Rose. I'll try to keep my left hand in my pocket."

Alice took my engagement ring. It was pretty eye-catching, I had to admit. Just something else to stir the curiosity of the clueless. "Then you're good to go, "she said, clapping. She and Rosalie walked me to the front door and watched like proud parents seeing their kid off to the first day of school.

Now sitting on the tree trunk with Edward, I tried to explain what was bothering me. "I don't like pretending that I'm someone else. It seems disloyal somehow–to you–and to the rest of the family. It feels like lying.

"I'm happy with who I am now. It's taken so long to get here, and we've been through so much, I think I'm afraid that if I go back to being the old Bella–even for a little while–I'll get stuck there, and everything that brought us so far won't have happened, and you'll . . . you'll just vanish."

"Still?" His soft voice was incredulous.

"Always. You don't realize that you're too good to be true."

"And you're far too good for me," he insisted. "So where does that leave us?"

"An impasse?"

"Yep." He smiled his heart-breaking smile and took my face in his hands. "I will always love the old Bella, as well as the new one. If you decide to go through with this little act, it will be to protect what we have, no matter how many rings you have on your finger."

"You noticed?"

"Of course. Just make sure Rosalie returns it."

"Actually, it was Alice who insisted."

"Oh, well, Alice is a pushover for romance–you'll have it back by nightfall."

"I guess I should get going, then. Would you like to kiss me goodbye?"

"I would like that very, very much," he whispered, leaning closer. Slowly, he brought his exquisite mouth to mine, nudging my lips apart with his own, sinking into a kiss so sweet I never wanted it to end. Obligingly, time faded along with awareness of everything around us. There was only one focus, sensual, emotional, all-encompassing. The kiss intensified, drumming up a whole new array of sensations, making me desperate to be closer to him.

My whimpering protest when I felt him start to pull away, got me nowhere, but I noticed he was blinking–as if to cool the fever from his eyes. The tone in his voice, however, was implacable. "No more, Bella. Not now."

"But I wasn't finished telling you goodbye."

"That's your best argument, is it?" He quirked a brow at me. "Then let me propose a compromise. We stop here, but when you get back I promise to let you argue with me as long as you want."

At some time while we'd been oblivious, the rain had stopped. A single, determined ray of sunlight found his hair. It was a tousled mess. My questing fingers had turned it into a riot of bronze and russet flames, shooting out in all directions. "You look like your head's on fire," I said, smugly.

"Fine." He ran his fingers through the conflagration with no perceptible effect. "When you've finished arguing with me later, I'll have you arrested for arson, but for now we have to be careful not to destroy Alice's handiwork. She'll come after both of us, and, trust me, you do not want to see Alice mad."

My hands flew to my face. "Oh, I completely forgot. Does it still look okay?"

He eyed me critically. "Your lipstick's gone," he confessed.

"Oh, well," I said with a shrug. "I'm not supposed to look like I'm wearing it anyway. Guess I'll see you later then." I took a deep breath and pointed myself in the direction of town. I only turned back once to see him standing on the path, hands in his pockets, a faint smile on his sculpted face.

It was more than enough to make the trek worthwhile.

I actually did cheat a little bit on my way to Forks with spurts of running between periods of boring human practice. By the time I stepped out of the trees and onto the pavement, my impression of Bella Sapiens was pretty well perfected.

The rain had been hiccupping in fits and starts. Somewhere behind the clouds the distant sun cast faint glimmers on the puddles. There weren't a lot of pedestrians around on a weekday morning, and those I passed paid me no attention whatsoever.

I wasn't sure if that was good or bad. If nobody noticed me, they couldn't very well spread the word that I was alive and well, which would be half right but helpful. On the other hand, the natives hadn't gathered in knots to gape and point like they do in a Godzilla movie. I'd call it a draw so far.

I had almost reached Division Street when a car slowed behind me, tires sloshing as it pulled into the curb. The cruiser.

"Bella?" Charlie lowered the passenger window and leaned across the seat, frowning up at me. "What are you doing here? Is everything all right?"

"Hey, Charlie. Yeah, everything's great. I just have to go to the DMV." I drew the papers from my pocket. "You know, registration stuff."

"Uh-huh. Remember, your truck's still sitting in the driveway. I can always take it to somebody, see if they can get it going again."

"I know." No point in passing on Emmett's suggestion that it be turned into a planter. "If you can get it running, you should drive it, Dad. You know–when you want to be less conspicuous."

He chuckled. "It's my job to be conspicuous, Bells. Say, when do I get to see my granddaughter again? She's growing so fast, I feel like I've missed something every time we get together."

"Soon. Maybe later in the week." I leaned into the window and lowered my voice. "I was just wondering, what do you say when people ask what I've been up to?"

He shrugged. "Not much. Depends on who it is, of course. Mostly, I just tell them you're a very private person. They seem to find that easy to believe."

"That's because it's true. What do you mean 'it depends on who it is'?"

He was getting into uncomfortable territory, and it showed. He stopped looking at me, scanning the street for what? Law breakers? Somebody who could explain just what the hell was actually going on with his daughter and her family? "With Sue and Billy, I can say a little more. And Alice, she seems to know a lot."

I breathed a sigh of relief. She knows a lot, and she's very good at gauging just how much of it to feed to Charlie, enough so that he doesn't worry about us, enough to divert his most awkward questions. That, along with my dad's natural reluctance to look at things he can't handle make this tight-rope walk we're attempting workable. Show him a mangled accident victim, and he's got it handled, present him with an emotional quagmire–not so much.

"How is Sue?" I asked, still leaning in the passenger window.

"Good. You and Edward?"

"Fine. So much better than fine, Dad, honest."

"All right, then. Say hello to him for me, and don't forget about the baby."

"I won't." I withdrew my head and stepped back on the sidewalk, but he had one more thing to add.

"You look good, Bells."

"Thanks." I waved, as he pulled back into traffic.

_I've looked a lot better, but whatever works_.

That was one close encounter for the scoreboard. Not one that should really count probably, but no, it had been good to hear firsthand what Charlie was telling people. He could get away with playing the "private person card" without seeming rude, because everyone knew it described him too. They wouldn't be surprised the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree.

The rain started up and again, and I remembered to pull my hood up like a regular person would. I kept my head down as I walked, not sure how much water it would take to spoil Alice's paint job.

"Is that you under there, Bella?"

The voice was familiar but it's funny how people look different out of context. It took me a moment to recognize the face, despite the fact that it had played a major role in my nightmares the last two years of high school.

"Coach Clapp," I managed finally. "It's nice to see you."

She shifted her big umbrella to the other hand and reached out to shake mine. I complied without even thinking. Was it my imagination that she winced? "My goodness, Bella, you've developed some real muscle tone. Good for you. You're awfully cold though, don't you have any gloves?"

"Mm, I forgot them." Bad and very bad. How could I mess up so stupidly in a matter of seconds? "How . . . how are the teams shaping up this year?" I had no idea what teams I was referring to, but it seemed like something that might deflect her interest.

"Well, you know. It's a small pool to draw from. We have a couple of juniors going out for softball and a tennis player who seems to have potential."

"Not as good as your star pupil, though, right?" What a lame thing to say. Then again, Coach Clap was used to me being all kinds of lame around her, so it might be for the best.

In any case, she grinned. "I know there were other subjects you excelled in. That's why I'm surprised to see you here. No college?"

"Not yet. I plan to go later on."

"That's good to hear. I don't want to keep you standing in the rain. Take care, all right?"

"You too," I said, as she strode off.

There. I ought to get a point for that one. True, I hadn't even thought about what would happen if I touched someone. I could easily have blown so much in that one unthinking moment, but apparently it hadn't really registered with her. Maybe my hand had gone limp with shock at seeing her again, fearful she might stick a badminton racket in it. More likely, it was like Edward says. People see what they are expecting to see.

Wonder what she would have thought if I'd shown her what I could really do–cover a city block in one leap, pluck out one of those annoying parking meters and make it puke up its little "expired" flag?

I grinned inwardly. I should probably apologize to Edward for the times I accused him of "showing off." The temptation really did come with the territory.

A rush of warm air, filled with human smells, confronted me as I opened the door to the DMV – blood and breath, and someone had gotten carried away with the cologne this morning. Belatedly, I held my breath. _Focus, Bella. You can't afford to drift off into fantasy. This is serious business_. I swallowed back the flow of venom that was a natural response to my surroundings.

The place wasn't crowded – just two short lines of people waiting to be helped. I could hear it though – the blood pulsing through them, the racket of their heartbeats. Aside from a physical twinge now and then, I wasn't letting it get to me. I'd had a great teacher.

Once it was clear that I wasn't going to become the blood-crazed, mindless newborn everybody expected, Edward had spent hours teaching me all the tricks he'd developed over the decades to help him resist temptation. Obviously, they were good ones, since he'd been able to resist thoroughly irresistible me.

When I'd pointed that out to him, though, he'd warned me not to get overly confident, that it wasn't a good example. He'd long ago concluded that one reason he had the strength to resist killing me, was that some part of him had been in love with me all along. It had just taken him a while to acknowledge it.

Looking around the brightly lit room, I didn't see anyone I'd be likely to crush on. Not the biker dude with the spikes and chains on his leathers.

_You think you look scary_, I mused. _I've seen scary, and you're not even close_.

There were a couple of business men, both checking their watches, a teenager texting on his iPhone, a round-faced guy with golden curls who looked like a cherub. Nope, nobody was likely to get any mercy when the Wrath of Bella descended, which was totally not going to happen anyway.

"I could just kill him!" The middle-aged woman in front of me suddenly turned, shaking her cell phone as if it contained the intended victim. "How hard can it be to remember one little thing, just one? We've had tickets to the symphony tonight for a solid month, and this morning he tells the boss, sure, he'll fly to Salt Lake City this afternoon, no trouble at all. No trouble?"

"Wow," I muttered, since she clearly expected me to say something. Did I look especially human and sympathetic? Or had she guessed I was the only other person in the room dwelling on homicide?

"Well," she smiled apologetically as she crammed her phone in an over-stuffed satchel. "You don't have to worry about that kind of thing for a long time yet. Husbands, I mean."

I blinked at her, non-committal.

"You're better off taking your time, because believe you me, it takes forever for them to grow up. Everyone makes fun of older men with their trophy wives, saying how the girls are all gold-diggers, but I'll bet you some of them have just figured out that unless the man you marry is a couple of decades older, he's probably still having daydreams about being an astronaut or a rock star. My advice is to wait and marry someone older, preferably with money, of course," she chortled. "But then love usually comes along and upsets the whole plan anyway, so what are you going to do?"

What _was_ I going to do? I wasn't sure unsolicited advice required a response, but the woman was trying to be friendly. Hurriedly, I did the math – technically Edward's almost 90 years older than me; his family's so rich they never even talk about money, and the love part's a lock. "It sounds like good advice," I told her.

"Don't get me wrong," she added, sounding a little ashamed. "It's not that I don't love my husband. I love him to pieces. But just because you love them doesn't mean you won't want to throttle them sometimes."

"Sounds about right."

The line moved forward, and she turned to talk to the clerk.

"Isabella . . . Isabella Swan!"

That was weird, nobody called me Isabella. I scanned the room, surprised to find the cherub guy waving at me from the other line. He must have just spotted me. I'd had a good look at him and felt no sense of recognition at all. There was nothing familiar about his voice either.

"How's it going?" he called.

"Uh, fine. Thanks." I wracked my brain for some place I might have known him. He looked a little older than me, but I was sure he hadn't gone to Forks High. Where then? I considered the places I used to frequent in town, families that knew my father. He couldn't come from La Push. Except for his rosy cheeks and freckles, he was almost as pale as me. Could he know me from someplace else – like Phoenix?

"Some great memories, huh?"

I wished he'd stop it. People were looking at me, more than I needed them to, and I couldn't dredge up a single recollection that might include this guy. I grabbed a pamphlet of road rules off the counter and pretended to study it, like I was here for a license instead of a registration. I repeated the legal alcohol level over and over, wondering what the legal blood level might be since they didn't bother to specify, until finally it was my turn at the window.

The official part turned out to be easy. It only took a few minutes, and the clerk didn't even blanch when she saw what kind of vehicle I was registering. Maybe she wasn't a car person. I pocketed the papers and walked out as swiftly as I dared, my head down so as not to catch the eye of cherub guy.

As soon as I was through the door, I took a huge, wonderful breath. A thousand smells rushed in at once, some of them pleasant, some of them not. None was of the kind that might be tempting. It was mostly cold and refreshing, full of rain and growing things and ocean spices.

I could have lingered happily picking out the different fragrances, reveling in a sense that no human could ever experience, but I was anxious to get back home and report on my mission.

Pretty successful, I thought, and at no time had I felt in danger of losing control. Edward was going to be so proud of me. I imagined that angel's smile lighting his face, and I would be responsible for putting it there. The thought made me ridiculously happy.

I had nearly reached the point where I planned to leave the highway and plunge into the woods, when the roar of a powerful engine, still blocks away, gave me the sneaking suspicion that I'd been followed. There was no need to turn around. I'd know that sound anywhere.

With a sigh I stopped and waited for the jeep to lurch to a halt beside me.


	2. Hobbies

Chapter 2

Hobbies

"Hey, beautiful. Wanna go for a ride?"

I turned. A quick scan showed me there were only two Cullens on board, but that didn't convince me this was a chance meeting. "What are you doing, Emmett, babysitting me? Did somebody call out the cavalry?"

"Absolutely not." He threw his big hands up, trying for an aura of innocence. "I swear, Bella. Somebody isn't even home. He took Renesmee for a walk. We were just out cruising for humans, and I said 'there's one now,' right Jazz?"

"That's right," Jasper agreed dutifully. "We enjoy it."

"Uh-huh." I frowned at them, wishing I could imitate Edward's glare, the one that could drop a charging rhino in its tracks. Unfortunately, my transformation hadn't brought that skill. Emmett was still grinning at me like an idiot. "No, I don't want a ride. I've been doing perfectly well on my own. In fact, you like to bet–how about I bet you that I can beat you back to the house?"

"On foot?" Emmett said incredulously.

"More or less. Are you up for it?"

"You're on!" He revved the engine and peeled out for the access road that would take them into the forest, but I was already off, slicing through the wet ferns, careening off a sturdy tree, the way Edward had taught me. What had been frightening the first time he'd carried me with him was now wholly exhilarating, probably because I was in control.

I was heading as the crow flies, only much faster. If Emmett weren't such a sucker for gambling, he would have realized he couldn't win this one no matter how fast he drove, what with the curvy driveway and all those pesky trees. I was in the Cullens' house with the door shut behind me before the jeep had battled its way through the woods.

Alice had, of course, seen me coming. She was standing in the living room, her arm extended, holding out my engagement ring.

"Thanks, Alice." I slipped it back on, feeling immediately better, and gave her a hug.

"So tell us – how did it go?" she asked, all big eyes and fluttery anticipation. Rosalie and Esme materialized behind her, eager not to miss a word.

"I'm saying nothing until you get this stuff off of me." It was my only bargaining chip, and I really wanted to get back to being me. "Do you realize how uncomfortable it is to have contacts in your eyes when the wind is hitting you in the face at sixty miles an hour?"

"I'm sure it's awful, "Alice soothed, leading me to her bathroom and the makeup mirror."We'll get those out first. Oh, Jasper's home," she added as she fastened the smock around me again.

A moment later I heard the kitchen door and wondered how Emmett would take his loss. I should have known he was already trying to see how it could work to his advantage. He came in, grabbing Rosalie from behind and nibbling her neck by way of hello.

"That was impressive, Bella," he said looking up. "Damned impressive, and what I want to know is whether you've actually raced my brother yet. No jumping, just an out-and-out foot race."

"Not seriously, no."

"That's great," he enthused, rubbing his hands together. "I'm pretty sure you can take him – at least now while you're still so strong. That would be really sweet."

"So, what's your point?" I said. "I'm supposed to outrun him so you can win a bet? In the first place, I doubt that I can do that and in the second why should I want him to lose to you?"

"Yes, Emmett." Esme, who'd been gathering my hair out of the way, threw him a reproving look. "Stop sowing the seeds of marital discord."

"It wouldn't do any good anyway," Rosalie told him. "Knowing Edward, he'd probably be pleased as punch if Bella ran faster than him."

"He would, wouldn't he?" Emmett said thoughtfully. "Damn, that's seriously messed up."

"Not everyone's as competitive as you, sweetie," Rosalie placated him by pressing her body close to his side and lifting her face appealingly.

Meanwhile, Jasper had perched on the counter, following every move that Alice made as she set about getting the makeup off my face. Sometimes Jasper's prolonged silences can be very refreshing.

"Oh, yuck, that cream smells so strong," I protested.

"Really?" Alice sniffed at the dollop on her finger. "I suppose it does have a rather pungent scent. I'd forgotten how much stronger it would smell to you."

She quickly wiped it away, and I began to describe the morning's events, uneventful as they'd actually proved to be. Emmett and Jasper drifted away when it became clear there was no violence involved.

That was fine with me. The girls asked much better questions anyway. Esme promised to fill Carlisle in when he got home from the hospital, so that just left Edward, and he wasn't back yet.

"He's about a mile away," Alice announced as she put away the last of the cosmetics, "on the other side of the river."

"Great. I'll go meet them," I said, heading for the front door. "Thanks for all your help today."

"It was my pleasure. You know how Rose and I enjoy doing makeovers. You're like our very own Barbie."

"If Barbie bitched every time you tried to dress her up," Rosalie added.

"Well, I appreciate it this time anyway. See you."

Outside the day was still dim and gray, but the wind and rain had gone. Even the mist had cleared. I sped down the lawn, soaring over the river and landing with a distinct squelch on the muddy path.

Shoot! Usually, I did better than that. Nobody was ever going to rate me a perfect ten, if I didn't improve my consistency on the landing.

When Edward hit the ground, he was always off and running; he never had to stop and pull his boots out of six-inch depressions. I must be landing like a meteorite, not with the lightness that always made it seem Edward was flying. Note to self: work on technique.

I followed the path up river without running into anyone. Odd – unless Edward had changed course after Alice checked on him. Then I heard it – a tinkly giggle, but I couldn't find the source.

_That's because you're still thinking like a human_, I reminded myself, and looked straight up.

There they were a good 20 feet above me. Edward crouching effortlessly on the branch of a giant spruce, Renesmee, peering over his shoulder, both of them looking down at me with smiles so much alike that I swear my non-beating heart nearly turned over.

"Am I right in assuming nobody died?" he called down. It was sort of Cullen shorthand for iffy encounters that turned out okay.

"Right, as usual."

"Come up here, Momma." Renesmee called.

"Yes, Momma, come up here." In one too-quick-to-see motion, he was sitting on the branch, patting the spot beside him.

I backed up a few yards and leapt at the tree, using my momentum to keep me from over-thinking what I was doing. In seconds I was sitting next to my family, kissing them both. Edward swung Renesmee around and into my lap where she snuggled happily.

One look at her sleepy face, and I said, "Why don't you two tell me about your morning first?" Renesmee started, fueled by excitement, and when she ran down, Edward took up the story. She was asleep by the time it was my turn. Edward gathered me close while I recounted every detail of my trip to Forks.

"Does this mean you're actually going to drive the Ferrari now?" he asked.

"Maybe. Do you know how ridiculous a car seat looks in that thing?"

"Don't tell me you'd prefer a minivan."

I thought that one over. "No, it's really an okay car if you're into going over 50 miles an hour, but I still miss my truck sometimes."

"Bella, you run faster than your truck ever did. Surely, you appreciate the difference."

"I just don't change my loyalties that easily, I guess."

"Well, I'm not going to complain about that." He gifted me with the crooked smile that always made my breath catch. "We should get her down for a nap. Do you mind if we do it at the main house? Esme wants to ask you something."

"That's fine, as long as you don't forget to argue with me when we do make it back to our place."

"Oh, I won't. I've already come up with a few persuasive positions that I doubt you can disagree with."

_Persuasive_? _Positions_?

I wasn't sure if it was what he said or how he said it that threatened to make me fall out of the tree. I made an effort to resist whatever it was. "Do you realize you just ended a sentence with a preposition?" There – me criticizing Mr. Articulate – that should distract him.

"I apologize," he said silkily. "What I meant to say was that I've come up with a few persuasive positions that I doubt you can disagree with – Bella. Now please give me our child before you drop her."

He scooped up Renesmee and was on the ground before I could think straight. I followed in a somewhat less fluid movement.

When we reached the river, I pulled off a really good landing. I know I did because Edward noticed and grinned at me. Of course, he'd done the same thing without even waking Renesmee who was burrowed into his neck, but I felt good about my efforts to bring balance to our relationship.

My power against the Volturi had been all kinds of satisfying, the more so for being unexpected. But I couldn't wait around for a monster attack to show that I could pull my own weight in this family.

Accordingly, once we'd put our daughter down for her nap, I went to the kitchen to find Esme. Her face lit up when she saw me. "I've had an idea," she said clasping her hands together in anticipation. "You know how Renesmee is about human food. It's not her favorite, but Carlisle says it's an important part of her diet. I thought I'd experiment with some recipes, fruits and vegetables, to see if we can't find something that appeals to her. I didn't want to do it without your permission."

"That's a great idea. Can I give you a hand?"

"I was hoping you'd say that. What I remember about cooking from my human days adds up to approximately zero."

"Can I help?" Rosalie sauntered into the room, her head crowned with an intricate weave of braids and pouf.

"I like your hair," I said, always impressed with anyone who could come up with more than my own two styles–hanging from a rubber band and just hanging.

"Thanks." She preened a little. "Do we have any aprons around here?"

"Third drawer on the left," Esme told her. "I don't imagine you spent much time cooking when you were human, did you, honey?"

"No. My mother assured me I'd never need to learn." Rose gave her sardonic laugh. "She was right, of course. Just not for the reason she thought."

"Then I'm afraid you're our resident expert, Bella."

"Only by default. I mean, yeah, I cooked all the time – for Charlie, but his taste's–not exactly gourmet."

"Neither are those of most children," Esme reminded me. "We just need to come up with a variety of simple, healthy dishes for her to try until something strikes her fancy. Rose, can you get down the three books on the end. Those are on child nutrition."

All the cookbooks on the Cullens' kitchen shelves looked new. So did the implements that Rose began pulling out of drawers.

"I imagine we'll need your help identifying some of these utensils, Bella. We more or less bought one of everything just to look the part in case anyone ever came to dinner. So far, only one person ever has."

"Yeah, and what a big success that was!" Rosalie said sarcastically, but she was smiling.

"I felt so bad about that," I hastened to apologize, even though it was years after the fact. "All that food wasted and you guys worked so hard to make me feel welcome."

"It wasn't your fault, Bella."

"No, it was Edward's," Rose said. "He just had to announce you'd already eaten. Otherwise we could have all gone through our polite little charade, no harm, no foul."

"He was just being honest," Esme cautioned her, "and besides, I was very fond of that bowl."

"What is this?" Rose said, deftly changing the subject. "It looks like some kind of medieval torture device."

"I think it's for slicing hard-boiled eggs," I told her.

"So what's wrong with a knife?"

I shrugged. "I guess it's so you won't cut yourself."

"Oh, well, thank God we have it then."

"I thought we might start with some smoothies. Do you think Renesmee would like that?"

"Sure, sounds good. What kind of fruit did you buy?"

What kind of fruit _didn't_she buy was more like it. We peeled and chopped and cooked and froze and Cuisinarted all afternoon long, laughing like loons when Rosalie failed to tighten the lid on the blender.

Well, Esme and I laughed. Rose managed the twist of a smile as the blueberries dripped down her face. Jokes at her expense are not exactly Rosalie's idea of humor, but the fact that she didn't go ballistic just showed what a good time the three of us were having.

We ended up with some vegetable concoctions, too, all labeled and lined up in the immaculate frig. It made me think of the way Charlie's refrigerator always looked full, even when there was nothing to eat. He must have eight kinds of mustard, plus catsup, taco sauce, soy sauce, chili sauce, tartar sauce, etc. Some of it had probably been purchased by Renee.

"She's never going to be able to eat all this while it's still fresh," I pointed out. Years of planning for leftovers had given me an aversion to wasting food.

"That's all right." Esme smiled, wiping the last of the blueberries off the counter. "This way she can have a little taste of each and find out what she likes. Do you think the pack might like the rest?"

"Does a wolf poop in the woods?" Rosalie grumbled.

"They do eat a lot," I said. "And they're growing boys."

"Can we forego the doggie bags and just dump the whole lot in a bowl on the back porch?"

"Rose," Esme began, but a bellow from below interrupted what she'd been about to say.

"Nessie's awake, Bella!" Emmett hollered up the stairs. "You want me to get her?"

"If you don't mind," I called back. "I'm almost finished here."

But when he walked into the kitchen a few minutes later, he was alone. "I don't know what it is with you two," he muttered, "Here's hunky Uncle Emmett ready to do whatever her little heart desires– shoot some pool, hit the Bow-Flex, whatever, and what does she ask for?"

I was hardly going out on a limb here. "Uh . . . her father?"

"Bingo. I wish one of you would explain to me what he's got that I haven't."

"Bite your tongue!" Rosalie almost shouted. "For pity's sake, do you want to expose us all to an endless description of _The Glory That is Edward_ as told by Bella Swan?"

"Cullen," I corrected her with a scowl.

But she was already steering Emmett out of the room. "It would be like the infomercial from hell."

"I like infomercials," he protested. "Especially the one about the Boob Builder."

"Just show me how you're doing with the Bow-Flex, babe. I've been dying to watch you work out."

They disappeared, and I turned to see Esme regarding me with a sympathetic look. "She can't just back off completely, you know. It's not in her nature."

I nodded.

"But it doesn't mean she doesn't care about you–very much."

"Eeee – that I'm not too sure about." Immediately I wished I'd just let it go. It so clearly pained Esme to see friction in her family. "I'm afraid I'm a constant reminder of the choice she never got to make."

Esme finished drying the blender and set it back in place. "Let me ask you something, Bella," she said, leaning against the frig, the dishtowel over her arm. "How does Edward feel about Rosalie?"

"She gets on his last nerve." Something else I probably shouldn't have said, but it was true.

"She definitely does that," Esme agreed, flashing her dimples. "But how does he _feel_ about her? Do you think he loves her?"

"I'm sure he does." That felt true too.

"And yet have you ever been in the same room with the two of them for longer than ten minutes when they didn't start in on each other?"

"Not that I can remember."

"That's just their relationship. It happens sometimes with siblings."

"I don't have a lot of experience with that kind of thing," I admitted. "It always seemed like it would be cool to belong to a big family, but I can't say I understand how it works."

"You're getting the crash course," she nodded, smiling. "And, of course, they didn't grow up together. Has he said anything about . . . about their early relationship?"

He had, and I did know what she was getting at. "He told me that you and Carlisle had hoped maybe he and Rosalie would get together."

"It sounds foolish now, doesn't it?" A kind of sad smile flitted across her face. "Just wishful thinking on our parts. Edward was so alone and so in need of someone to bring him out of himself. There was no reason to think it would work, except maybe that they were both so beautiful. Very superficial, I know, but we were desperate.

"Later we realized that they shared an interest in the piano as well. Rosalie was very proficient, but Edward, as well as reading music, could play by ear. And as you know, he hears the loveliest melodies in his head and brings them to life, a talent she never had, so rather than bringing them together, music became another source of resentment on her part.

"And, of course, the worst of it was that he never showed the slightest interest in her as anything but a sister, and that was hard for Rosalie. That's always been her power – to control men with her beauty. I don't think she ever quite got past that rejection. Or perhaps she did, but by then their prickly way of relating to each other had become a habit."

She straightened up and hung the dish towel on the oven's handle, then put her arm around me. "My point is that she loves him, too, underneath it all. After what happened, when he went to Italy, she was forced to face the consequences of her attitude.

"It really woke her up, Bella. I just want you to understand. What happened to her in her human life was so horrible that it left her very, very angry. She still deals with that, so the way she talks to people is not necessarily an indication of how she feels about them. We can't all be like Alice," she added, laughing, "so straightforward and affectionate."

"Or like you," I said, giving her a grateful hug. "Thanks for talking to me about it.

"Anytime, Bella. You know that.

"Where is everybody anyhow?"

"It is awfully quiet, isn't it?" Esme agreed. No voices. No TV. No piano. No CDs playing or computers beeping. I realized for the first time that the Cullen house was very seldom completely silent. Too many residents with too many interests for that.

I headed down to the room the Cullens had created just for Renesmee. Practically speaking, it was a good idea. We spent a lot of time here, so it was convenient to have a place where she could nap, something Carlisle said she would still need for a while due to her accelerated growth.

In my opinion, a nice little bed would have been sufficient, but like all the Cullens' enthusiasms, this one had quickly gotten out of hand. The place was filled with books and toys and more clothes than she had in her own room at the cottage. What it didn't have in it at the moment was Renesmee – or Edward.

Our daughter didn't leave the kind of chaos in her wake that many young children did. However I couldn't say the same for some of her overgrown playmates, so I took the opportunity to straighten up.

Honestly, anybody old enough to build a model of Wrigley Field out of Legos should be old enough to clean up after themselves. And why her favorite teddy bear was decked out in flowing black robes, I didn't even want to contemplate. Could sweet little girls turn into Volturi groupies? I shivered at the thought.

Everything was back in its proper place, and there was still no sign of anyone else, so I went in search of the book that I kept here for occasions like this, rare as they were. I found it under an end table in the living room and settled into the comfy leather couch, surprised to see how few pages preceded my scrap-paper bookmark.

I used to devour my favorite books in days. Now I was lucky to get through a chapter in a week. Funny how the whole time thing was way different than how I'd imagined it before Edward changed me. Never having to sleep meant extra hours in the day and yet there were never enough of them.

Having Edward for eternity hadn't lessened my desire to be with him every moment possible. And then there was Renesmee with her childhood speeding by. How often had I heard parents say that their kids grew up too fast? They had no idea!

At least for now, she was a combination of endearing little girl and something much more precocious. Whether she would change in alarming spurts or more gradually, Carlisle couldn't really predict. All we knew was that she'd be a young woman in half the time it took most of us, and I didn't want to miss the journey.

I glanced down at the page. Yes, there was Emma Bovary just where I'd left her, longing for a life of love and adventure, trapped in a time and place that gave her little power to choose her own path. Renesmee would have so many options – more than anybody else. How much of her life would she live as a human and how much as a vampire? Then there was the wolf connection. Once she was grown, her bond to Jacob would solidify an already strong alliance.

I didn't like thinking that far ahead, and I suspected Edward really hated it. Intellectually, he knows it's a good thing – a great thing, really. Our little girl is guaranteed a happy life with someone who will adore and protect her always, someone we trust absolutely. It's the emotional part and the implications of their bond that he can't quite handle yet. I suspect he has it stored away in whatever lockbox he uses for thoughts and memories too painful to examine.

There's a lot of those, I know. Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn't be better for him to let them out, air them like shrinks are always telling people to do, because I know they still have the power to torment him, even from their hiding place. But I'd never insist on that. Someday, if he wants to tell me about his past, I'm ready to listen, but it doesn't really matter. He could have massacred entire civilizations and I wouldn't care. Not sure what that says about me, but it's the truth.

Oh, right - _Madame Bovary_. I found my place again and tried to concentrate. As a newly married lady, Emma was exploring her new house. _The first room was unfurnished._ And quick as that, I was out of the story and back to thinking about my own life, which was so full of the things poor Emma desperately wanted.

All those unfurnished rooms . . . I laughed, remembering how that particular adventure had started a few weeks ago. We'd zipped down to the cottage to retrieve a drawing Renesmee had made of the whole family that she was eager to share with them. For the most part, it was typical of the pictures drawn by young children, lots of straight lines and circles. There was even a wildly radiating sun in the sky, which I was pretty sure she'd never laid eyes on in real life.

It was probably only the mother in me that thought Jasper's expression looked suitably odd and that there was something mischievous in her depiction of Alice. The addition of a large family dog I took to be all imagination until Edward rolled his eyes at me.

Interesting person, our little girl.

I stepped into her bedroom and stopped short.

"Edward, why is there a house in our house?" I called, staring at the three-foot high Victorian that took up most of the corner.

Painted the palest shade of pink with forest green shutters at the perfect little gabled windows, it was much less garish than the pictures I'd seen of similar homes in San Francisco. With its gingerbread trim and long porch, complete with swing, it could have been the kind of place Edward grew up in.

"Did you do this?"

He'd materialized beside me, and he looked genuinely surprised. "Hardly. My wife disapproves of extravagant gifts."

"It does look expensive, doesn't it? Who could have done it, and how did they get into our cottage?"

"Considering the prime candidates are all vampires, it wouldn't be difficult." He didn't seem the least bit alarmed, and I wondered if that was a mistake.

"What if it wasn't one of the family? What if it's some kind of trick – like from the Volturi?"

His brows lifted in amusement. "And you call me paranoid?"

"I'm serious. You know how intrigued they are with Renesmee. Maybe it's an elaborate trap. Do you think it's a good idea to open it?"

"Not if you expect Aro to jump out like a Jack-in-the-box."

"You're awfully complacent about this," I accused. His posture was relaxed, his expression still amused, and suddenly it dawned on me that he already knew my fears were groundless. He'd already scoped out the atmosphere in the room and decided there was no threat.

He can't read my mind, but he's awfully good at reading my face. "You can do it, too," he coaxed. "Go ahead – what do your senses tell you?"

Hesitantly, I moved into the center of the floor and closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, focusing on what it told me. Wow, a lot of different smells! I took a moment to try to separate them – the three of us, of course, and every other Cullen except Jazz – no, he'd been here, too. Renesmee's fan club was always coming in and out, carting her back and forth, babysitting.

Charlie was the only significant person missing from the mix, and that was just fine with me. He had no idea the cottage even existed, but then his no-need-to-know database was way, way fuller than anyone else's.

Ow, I wrinkled my nose in disgust and immediately felt a twinge of guilt. Wolf smell.

Moving closer to the dollhouse, I sniffed at its steep, scallop-tiled roof and down the sides where someone would have held it. Suddenly, it occurred to me how stupid I must look. "I feel like a dog," I said to Edward.

"Not with a ten-foot pole," he replied obscurely.

At last, I turned back to him with a shrug. "I can smell the whole family in here – and Jacob, but nothing stands out as more recent."

"That's what I get too," Edward said approvingly. "Clearly, someone who cares about her wanted her to have a special surprise."

"She's going to love it," I exclaimed, relaxing. Finding the hinged side, I moved to the other end and swung the front of the house open, revealing three floors on either side, complete with delicate stairways and working doors. Some of the rooms were carpeted, and a tiny crystal chandelier hung in the center of what I supposed was meant to be a dining room. "No furniture – or people."

That didn't turn out to be much of an issue. Renesmee was entranced from the moment she saw the house, using her little fingers to walk from room to room, so intent that I knew she was making up entire stories in her head.

"Very dramatic," her father confirmed. "The family's fallen on hard times, forced to sell their furniture."

"Maybe we should get her some," I said anxiously. Heaven forbid our little girl's imaginary friends should live in poverty.

"It might interfere with the dramatic arc," he cautioned

In any case, a delighted squeal from Renesmee's room a few days later brought us running to find her cradling a perfect miniature china cabinet in her hands.

"Where do you suppose that came from?" I asked, kneeling to take a closer look.

"Probably fairies brought it," she said dismissively and turned to the task of finding the perfect place to put it.

"That eliminates my brothers," Edward said.

"Why?" I teased. "Cause they wouldn't want to be called 'fairies'?"

He laughed. "No, because neither one of them would know Victorian from Duncan Phyfe."

"Gah, I hate it when you're smug," I claimed, lowering my eyes, so he couldn't see that – oddly –it wasn't even true. That left me looking at his mouth just as he pulled out the crooked smile that always neutralized my brain. He slid his long fingers up my arms, leaving a trail of hyperactive neurons in their wake.

"No, you don't," he countered in a soft voice that ought to be illegal. In an instant we were around the corner into the living room, where we enjoyed several intoxicating, if PG-13 rated, minutes while Renesmee studied furniture placement.

After that, items for the dollhouse would show up randomly, sometimes in her room, sometimes in very odd places – at the main house, in her car seat, nestled among the flowers when she helped with the gardening. "The mystery giver is very sneaky and very good at this," I remarked to Edward.

"The mystery giver's a vampire," he replied, as if no other explanation was necessary. He seemed content with the fact that someone who loved Renesmee was going to a lot of trouble to see that she had an exciting adventure – one that any child would be thrilled to experience.

_Madame Bovary_ lay abandoned in my lap, while I backtracked in my mind to the memory of Edward pressing me into the living room wall. Damn, he'd been gone a long time. A door slammed, and I perked up expectantly but it was only Alice.

"Where's everybody been?" I asked.

"Oh, they're all over the place," she said, waving her hand vaguely toward the outside of the house. "Renesmee wanted to play hide and seek."

"You weren't with them?"

"No." She made what I thought was a rather half-hearted attempt to inject pathos into her answer. "They never let me play."

"Gee, I can't imagine why."

"But you'll never guess what I found in the basement!"

"Do I even want to?" The only thing I'd ever found in a basement was a dead rat at my Gran's house. I never went down there again.

"I was looking for stuff to make jewelry and I–"

"I didn't know you made jewelry, Alice."

"Sometimes. It's a hobby. I need to find just the right things to go with the gown."

"What gown?"

"Didn't I tell you? Rosalie and I are . . . oh, I'll explain it later. Let's just say it's another hobby. Anyhow, I couldn't find what I was looking for and then I came upon this."

She bent and opened the large leather case at her feet. Inside the velvety lining nestled what looked to be some kind of old-fashioned camera and several gleaming attachments.

"Wow," I said, "It's a good thing you rescued it, I'm surprised it wasn't already mildewed and rusty.

"Why would it be mildewed and rusty? Really, Bella, it's a Hasselblad!"

"It's a whosiwhat?"

"A camera, a really valuable classic camera. It's probably something Carlisle got in Europe, and I'm going to ask him to show me how to use it. The pictures should be phenomenal. I can't wait!"

"You should have told me you wanted to take pictures, Alice. I can lend you the camera Charlie gave me. It's a lot less complicated than that antique, and you can carry it in your pocket."

"That's sweet, Bella, but it's not the same thing. Look!" She gestured to a framed photograph on the opposite wall. "It's for pictures like that."

I'd admired the photo before, a crystal-clear black and white shot of the moon over Yosemite. "Did Carlisle take that one?"

She laughed, but I hadn't been joking. "Ansel Adams took it. Isn't it exquisite?"

I got the distinct impression I was supposed to know who Ansel was. She was right – I wasn't keeping up. "So you're taking on yet another hobby?"

"You can never have too many, Bella."

"Too many? I don't think I have any. Well, reading, I guess." I stole a guilty look at the neglected book in my lap.

"Oh, you have more than that," she said confidently. "How about finding opportunities to sneak off with my brother when you think no one's paying attention. You always seem to work that into your busy day."

"I don't . . . it's not sneaking . . ." I spluttered. So someone _had_ been paying attention.

"Oh, he's just as bad," she added. "I'm only pointing out that you have definite preferences about how to spend your leisure time. That makes it a hobby, see?"

I don't know why I felt compelled to argue with her. Embarrassment maybe. What was I going to say anyhow? It's not a hobby; it's my life's work? In any case, she'd timed it so that I never got the chance.

"They're home," she trilled, seconds before the front door swung open.

I used the opportunity to escape her teasing and hurried to greet the first person through it, though that turned out to be Rosalie. "How was the game?"

Anybody else would have probably answered "fine," but Rose never lets an opportunity to insert her two-cents worth pass her by.

"Oh, it started out great," she said. "Nessie found three of us right off the bat. She's smart as a whip. But then _someone_ had to go and spoil the whole thing."

"He can't help it," I said, automatically springing to the defense. "How can you expect him to block out everybody's thoughts, watch over Renesmee and still play a–"

"I'm not talking about Edward," she interrupted. "It's Jasper. He takes the hiding thing way too seriously. We wasted 30 minutes searching for him last round. It's his turn again, and he's probably in Idaho, hidden among the potatoes. We just left him to it."

"Don't worry," Emmett called in the general direction of Alice. "If he's not back by Christmas, we'll send the pack to nose him out."

"It's not a potato field," she called back, tentatively balancing one of the huge camera lenses in her hand. "It's a junkyard, and he's crouching behind a burned-out Camero – a '74, I think."

Emmett shrugged. "Or we'll just send Alice."

It was probably my imagination that the whole room lit up when Edward walked in, carrying Renesmee on his back. His eyes found mine immediately, and he smiled. No – there! That was the whole room, the whole house lighting up. I grinned back.

She scrambled down and ran to encircle my legs. "Uncle Jasper is the best hider," she informed me.

"So I've heard," I knelt down to hug her. "Did you have fun?"

"Uh-huh. Look." She pulled a small bundle from her pocket, wrapped in purple cloth and tied with a golden string, like all the others.

"And you didn't open it?"

"No, you see it too." Together we loosened the wrappings to reveal a tiny chair, complete with tapestry back and seat. Fine yellow silk fringed the bottom.

"Whoa, that's a fancy one," I said, as she beamed, enraptured. Where did you find it?"

"By a rock when I was hiding."

"Who was with you?" I asked casually, hoping to nail the furniture fairy's identity.

"No one. Just me."

"Honey, you shouldn't be by yourself out in the woods. Edward!"

I stood, ready to berate him, but he was right beside me. "Do you really think I let her out of my sight?" he whispered.

'Oh, hi." My anxiety vanished as his arm slid around me. Renesmee ran off to show her find to Alice, and I leaned back against him, releasing an involuntary sigh. "I just worry. She really thought she was alone."

"Bella, I watched you sleep every night for weeks and you never had a clue."

"True," I conceded. "Do you actually have a degree in stalking?"

"No, just a merit badge – psychopath: first class."

"Good," I chuckled. "That makes me feel much better."

"It should."

"You guys are pussies," Jasper announced as he came through the door.

"Oh, look," Rosalie drawled, "Mr. Potato Head is home."

"What?" Jasper said, pinning her with his own particular version of the Cullen stare. I had to admit, it was a good one.

"Shouldn't that be Mr. Camero Head?" I whispered to Edward.

"Technically," he agreed. "But Rose's image is funnier."

"I found you!" Renesmee squealed, whipping across the room at vampire speed. Jasper swung her up in his arms.

"You're the only one who could," he said, tweaking her nose.

"Jasper, you have to see this." Alice couldn't wait any longer. She was bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. "It's the most beautiful camera with all the lenses!"

"Coming. You ready to fly, Sweatpea?" he said to Renesmee, who nodded eagerly.

_Fly_? Why was I sure I didn't want to see this?

"Heads up, Edward. You've got incoming." Suddenly, he lifted my little girl and hurled her as easily as a football the length of the room, where Edward caught her effortlessly, smiling at her ecstatic reaction.

"Again!" she begged.

"Again nothing. Edward, what in the world are you thinking. She's half human, you know."

"But Jazz and I aren't," he said, placing her on her feet. "She wasn't in any danger."

"It's fun, Momma," she insisted.

"A lot of things are fun that aren't necessarily good for you," I told her, shooting a reproving look at Edward.

"Like what?" she asked, suddenly all wide-eyed curiosity.

I was saved from providing her a check list of ways to drive her parents insane should she ever hit a rebellious phase by Esme who'd come to welcome everyone home.

"Your mommy and Aunt Rosalie and I have fixed some special human foods for you to try. Are you hungry?" It made sense to refer to aunts and uncles, but calling Esme and Carlisle Grandma and Grandpa would be too bizarre even for a family of mythical creatures.

In fact, she did like some of the foods she tasted and was diplomatic about the ones that didn't meet with her approval. I thanked our lucky stars that she'd inherited her father's impeccable manners, even as I scribbled down a list of those worth fixing again.

By the time Carlisle arrived, Renesmee had finished her dinner and had her bath. His face lit up when she was the first to greet him. "Now, this is a great homecoming," he said, squeezing her tight. While he was admiring her new acquisition for the doll house, Esme pulled Edward and me aside.

"Listen, why don't you let us keep Renesmee here tonight? It will give you two a chance for some real privacy."

I didn't dare meet Edward's eyes. We hadn't so much as kissed since early this morning. The prospect of having him all to myself with no fear of waking our daughter . . . "I'll have to ask how she feels about it," I managed to get out.

"I already have," Esme said. "She's fine – with one stipulation. She'd still like her regular bedtime story. Are you up for that, Daddy?"

"Absolutely," he said, but he was looking at me. I could feel it, and it was playing havoc with my nervous system. Thank goodness, there was no pesky heartbeat to give me away. And then he was gone, whisking Renesmee out of Carlisle's arms as he passed.

I shrugged, pushing my hair behind my ear. "Some women are just born with that ability, I guess. One word and the men come running."

"Mm." Esme pursed her lips. "Not to mention the wolves. Somehow I think our little miracle will get by just fine. What is he reading to her these days?"

"I'm afraid to ask," I admitted. "It's probably safe to say it isn't _Pat the Bunny_. She understands so much, and now she wants to read things back to him. I have this awful fear that they're going to come out of her room some night discussing Virgil – in the original Greek, while I stand around looking like a moron."

Esme hugged me, laughing. "Now, you know that's not going to happen. For one thing, they are both far too polite to exclude us from the conversation."

"Oh, thank you, thank you!" Alice's excitement could only mean Carlisle had given her permission to use the whosiwhat. "I'll be extra careful, I promise."

"I know you will," Carlisle assured her. "Now just let me change my clothes and we'll take a look at it. There should be a manual in the bottom of the case."

Esme accompanied him upstairs, filling him in on my foray into Forks, while Alice bounced to my side. "I'm going to need to borrow Edward," she said, "to get this photography thing off the ground."

"I thought Carlisle was going to help you with the camera."

"Oh, not the camera – the darkroom."

"Why do you need a darkroom, Alice? There's a kiosk at the mall. You can get prints in like 24 hours."

"Oh, Bella, you just don't understand the photographer's art."

"Neither do you, as far as I can tell."

"Yes, but I'm going to learn, and developing your own pictures is part of the process – maybe the most important part."

"Can't you get Jasper to help you?" I was already begrudging the time away from Edward.

"Of course he's helping and Emmett, too. It's a big project, Bella. There's the plumbing and the electricity, and someone will have to build a counter for the enlarger and put in the tubs."

"Well, you can't just borrow Edward. You'll have to ask him yourself."

"Oh, I will. Wait!" She did that disconcerting thing of looking blankly into the distance for several seconds. "He's going to say yes!"

I couldn't help it. I started to laugh. There is just no dealing with Alice when she's like this. She's like a miniature steamroller, flattening all obstacles in her path. It was not only futile to fight it, but maybe a little selfish as well. "OK, then I guess I better help too. What can I do? And where are you putting this thing, anyway?"

"In the basement. There's a perfect spot in the northeast corner."

Holy crow, maybe I'd spoken too soon. What if she expected me to be the one to clear out the dead rats?

"I know, I'll be ordering all kinds of things over the next few days. You can help me keep track, or maybe even pick them up at the post office for me. It would give you another excuse to make a public appearance."

And you another excuse to play beauty salon, I thought. "Alice, are you sure you have the same number of hours in your day as everyone else?"

"Well, I could count them to make certain," she deadpanned, "but I haven't got time, and by the way, that's a joke, Bella."

"Yeah, it's a real knee-slapper. It's a good thing I love you, Alice."

"Isn't it? I love you too, Bella. Hug!"

"Tell everyone goodnight for me, OK?" I said, returning her squeeze.

"Will do. See you tomorrow!" And she vanished.

I headed back to Renesmee's room. Edward was just coming out. As always his beauty gave me a jolt. No matter how perfect he was in my mind, it could never measure up to the reality, so that I constantly felt as if I was seeing him for the first time. And falling hopelessly in love with him all over again. Something of that must have registered on my face, because he looked bemused as he came toward me.

"What are you thinking about?" he bent his head to peer into my eyes, trying to read my expression,

"The usual – you." No point in denying that. "And about being hopelessly in love."

He suppressed a smile, catching a strand of my hair on his finger and smoothing it back behind my ear. "Silly Bella. Love is only hopeless if it's unrequited."

"But that's just it. When I fell in love with you, I had no idea that you would ever love me back. In fact, it seemed impossible, but I couldn't turn those feelings off. I might have gone through my whole life being absolutely miserable. What happens to people in that situation – how do they survive?"

"I don't know. Maybe they find some lucky wolf-boy who's willing to try and put the pieces back together."

"I was speaking hypothetically." My disapproving frown didn't alter his placid expression. "I wonder how many people are wandering around, horribly in love with someone who couldn't care less."

"Don't let it upset you. I don't think there can be very many. If the chemistry has to be right to bring two people together, then chances are the feeling's mutual – with the exception of the few lost souls needed to write country songs about it."

"Yes, but our chemistry wasn't the same. I mean, I didn't start out wanting to kill you."

"I thought this was a hypothetical question."

"It is, but I have to work with the examples I know."

"Bella, I don't think our example is exactly typical, do you?"

"I guess not. It's just too bad that everyone can't feel the way I do."

"That's a very unselfish sentiment," Edward said, pulling me close to him.

"Not completely. I really don't want anyone else feeling that way about you. Let them get their own superhero."

"Who's a superhero?" Neither of us had heard Esme approach. "You aren't bragging again are you, Edward? Girls don't actually find that attractive."

"No," I hurried to interject. "It was me. I'm the one who thinks of him that way sometimes."

"As long as it's only sometimes," Esme cautioned. "It's up to us to make sure the Cullen boys don't get too full of themselves, even if they are pretty special." The pride on her face was obvious when she looked at Edward. "Now you can have some time to yourselves."

"We need it." Edward's tone was ominous. "We're having an argument tonight."

"You are?" She looked taken aback. Apparently, we didn't seem like a feuding couple. "I hope it's nothing too serious."

"I'm afraid it is," Edward said darkly. "Bella's planning her attack even as we speak. You're going to start as soon as we get home, aren't you?" he said, turning toward me.

"As soon as the door's shut," I confirmed.

"We'll try not to disturb you," he said to Esme, his persuasive voice rich with sincerity. "But it's likely to escalate. Please, just ignore whatever sounds you hear coming from the cottage."

I nodded, "All's fair in love and war."

"No holds barred." Edward added.

"Take no prisoners."

"No, wait." Edward bent his lips to my ear. "Not that one."

"Really?" I blinked at him.

"Really," he whispered. "Prisoners will be taken."

"Oh." I quickly lost track of what we'd been bantering about.

Esme raised her eyes to heaven and began pushing us toward the front door.

"Go, and have a nice fight. Just don't forget to make up afterwards."

"I like the way you think," Edward grinned and kissed her on the cheek. "Goodnight. We'll be back in the morning."

Outside, I waited for him to take my hand, that moment when all the longing of the day would translate into a physical charge, driving the long, dark, beautiful night. Instead, he said, "What would you say to a race?"

I considered for a moment. "I'm up for it, but it's only right to warn you that Emmett's already placed a bet – against you."

"Of course, he has, but he's forgotten one thing."

Before I could ask what that was, he slipped an arm around my waist and leaned in close. His words whispered past my ear, flooding my brain like champagne bubbles. "I don't play fair." At the same moment my body relaxed in mindless surrender, he was gone. Only my quick new reflexes kept me from falling.

"Cheater!" I yelled into the empty shadows and gathered every ounce of newborn power to take off after him. I nearly caught up with him at the river, only he didn't slow before making the jump and I stupidly did. Rookie mistake. That might have made all the difference, I told myself, as I skidded to a stop where Edward stood waiting, the cottage door already open.

"That was a low tactic, even for a vampire. Does it really mean that much to you to win a stupid bet with your brother?"

"No." His grin was unabashed. "But it meant a great deal to me to get you here as quickly as possible."

"You really are spoiling for a fight," I accused, unable to quibble with his motivation.

"That's the plan."

I stepped past him into our home and turned, arching a brow, "All right, Cullen," I said in the most menacing tones I could muster. "Show me what you got."

The expression on his face was priceless. This was going to be one heated battle, even if I suspected that when morning came, it would have ended in a glorious, mind-melting tie.

Edward reached for me and closed the door behind us.


	3. Art and Music

**A/N: I haven't mentioned reviews, because I don't want anybody to feel obligated to leave one. Reading a story should be fun. No strings attached. Having received some, however, I have to say it's a good feeling, and I want to thank those who took the time to do it. Knowing someone, somewhere may enjoy the story going on in my head, gives me a reason to keep writing it down.**

**And now to see if last night's battle had any survivors . . .**

Chapter 3

Art & Music

Edward left just before dawn to hunt with Emmett and Jasper. It shouldn't have been so hard to let him go, not after hours of doing exactly what we'd been longing to do.

Or maybe that was what made it so difficult. He hadn't wanted to leave either, I could tell, but he'd made a promise, and he wouldn't be Edward if he didn't take that seriously.

I could lie here just replaying the night's events over and over in my head. Chances are I'd be doing that all day anyway, no matter what else I was supposed to be thinking about, but the bed – or what was left of it – felt horribly empty. Better to get a start on the day now, finish what needed to be done around the house so I'd be free to greet Edward in whatever manner might suit us as the time.

I sat up, swinging my feet to the floor, marveling that my marble-hard body had been transformed during the night into something resembling Play-Dough. Edward had been right, after all. If we'd carried on like this when I was still human, it would have been a disaster.

Not that I ever believed he could actually hurt me, but I probably would have spent the rest of my life as a quivering blob of Jello on our bedroom floor – relaxed, happy and pretty much good for nothing.

As it was, my new body came through for me, allowing me to stand on my own two feet, helping me whirl through the household chores with alarming efficiency.

The sun was still not fully risen when I went to answer a delicate knock on the front door. There, with her hair haloing her face like a dark sunburst, stood my favorite sister-in-law. She was balancing a large, flat parcel at her side. "Alice!" I exclaimed.

"Well, don't sound so surprised. It's not like the Jehovah's Witnesses are roaming the woods at this hour. Oh my," she stopped to look me over appraisingly. "You must have had quite a night!"

"What? Why do you say that?" My hand flew to my hair – it was combed. I was fully dressed. An awful possibility occurred to me. "Please tell me you haven't been checking on us."

"Don't be gross, Bella. He's my brother. No, it's just that you look very . . ."

"Discombobulated?" I supplied.

"Hmm, I was going to say 'satisfied', but that works, too. Is he here, by the way?"

"As a matter of fact, he isn't," I said, relieved. If she had been "watching" us, she would already know that.

"Well, that's lucky, unless of course, you've just wrecked him completely. Admit it, Bella, your uncontrollable appetite finally got the best of you. If you haven't buried the body yet, I'd like to see him. He's always looked so sweet when he's smiling."

"Let me guess." I glared at her, "Emmett sent you to torment me since he's otherwise engaged. Fine. You can tell him your mission's accomplished. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll wait for some nice Jehovah's Witness so I can have a conversation that doesn't revolve around my sex life."

"Who said anything about sex?" Alice's elfin eyes widened. "Honestly, Bella, sometimes I think you have a one-track mind. Now do you want your present or don't you?"

"What present? You mean that?" I nodded at the package resting against her hip.

"Of course." She picked it up and skipped past me into the house. "I was hoping you'd be alone, so I could get your honest reaction."

"You don't think Edward will like it?" I asked, trying to follow her train of thought.

"Actually, I suspect he will, though I'm not sure he'll be quick to admit it. His tastes are very refined, you know, and this kind of painting fell out of favor quite some time ago. Still, given his romantic nature and the times he grew up in, I think he'll find it appealing. It's you I'm concerned about."

I shut the heavy wooden door behind her. "You don't think I'm romantic?" That one threw me. Didn't renouncing your mortal existence to be with the man you loved count as a teensy bit romantic?

"You know what I mean. You have an aversion to things that other people think are sweet – presents, lacy clothes, ceremonies –"

"And whiskers on kittens. Yeah, yeah, I get it."

"It's not entirely your fault, of course," Alice conceded. "People are embarrassed by sentiment these days. Cool is in."

"I still don't get it," I said stubbornly. "Edward's cool and romantic and sentimental and– "

"And Edward will like the picture," she said, as if she'd proved her point. "You'll probably think it's – what's the word – cheesy."

I thought about that for a minute. "Well, it's true that things that are too sweet make me nervous – I guess I'm afraid they're insincere."

"Only because of the post-ironic times you live in," Alice insisted with an air of superiority.

"Okay, whatever. Now I'm terrified of what you've got there. Are we talking about Elvis on black velvet or poker-playing dogs?"

"Oh, yes, Edward would be delighted with those," she said frostily. "Let's take it into the bedroom and I'll show you."

I stepped in front of the bedroom door. "Can't we look at it out here? The room's a mess. I'm in the middle of doing laundry."

"I picked it out because I think it will go perfectly across from the bed," she said, sweeping past me.

I followed helplessly, as she propped the parcel against the far wall and began to remove the paper. I caught a glimpse of flowers, a pale floaty dress with ribbons.

"Oh," I said, as the last of the wrapping fell away. The painting showed a girl in an old-fashioned dress. She was sitting on a rustic swing, surrounded by blossoming trees, while her lover whispered in her ear. "That's . . . it's pretty," I said finally.

"Isn't it?" Alice enthused. "From the romantic period of course, but I love the way it seems to tell a story. Don't you wonder who they are and what he's whispering to her?"

"I guess so." Was pretty supposed to be bad now? I really needed a course in art appreciation if I was not going to look like an idiot in front of Edward. Edward, who I'd just been warned, had "refined tastes." Gah.

"Either you like it Bella or you don't," Alice said, turning to face me. "That's all that matters." She stopped short, disapproval shadowing her face. "For pity's sake, why do you two even have a bed?"

I knew without turning around what she was looking at, what I'd been anxious for her not to see in this room.

"Wasn't that one made of zebra wood – the really, really hard stuff? The headboard is toast, you know. You're not going to be able to get it repaired. I know he has a tendency to overreact, but this is ridiculous."

"It might not have been him, Alice," I said. "I think maybe I did it."

"You don't even know?" Alice said, appalled. She hates to see nice things ruined.

"Well, we weren't exactly fixated on the furniture," I snapped.

"Clearly." She looked thoughtful for a minute. "Actually, I just gave myself an idea. What if we made this whole area cushions – kind of a harem vibe. You know, almost like a giant nest." Visions of feathers drifted unbidden across my mind. "Cushions and pillows and wonderful silk throws. You could configure things any way you wanted and there'd be no breakable parts."

"Does the harem vibe fit with the chick on the swing?" I asked doubtfully.

"It's your room. You really should have more confidence in your own taste, Bella."

"Maybe I would if I ever got a chance to choose anything myself. Who's picked out the most things in this house . . . in my closet – you, Alice that's who. I guess I should be grateful you let me pick my own husband."

"Oh, but Edward's exactly who I would have chosen for you anyway! See how that works out? Besides, how else could I have gotten myself the best sister in the entire world?" She threw her arms around me in an exuberant embrace. "You know, Emmett has a point. I don't know what we Cullens did for entertainment before we had you to tease. You are just so much fun."

"Thanks, I think. Where did you get that anyway," I gestured toward the painting.

"Oh, I happened to see it when I was scoping out an area for the darkroom, which reminds me, I was online all night figuring out what we need to build it. Esme's already done a rough sketch, and I need everybody to get together, so we can decide who's doing what."

"I thought this was _your_ hobby."

"Sharing is good, Bella, although Rose is being awfully snippy about helping out. She wants to concentrate on the gown we're designing, which is simply a waste of time until the fabric gets here."

I'd forgotten about the gown. "What happened to the jewelry project?"

"On hold, I'm afraid, till I figure out where I put my supplies. I'll really need you to help me on that one too."

"I don't think I'd be much help in that department – not artistic."

"You don't know that, Bella. Have you ever really tried to design something pretty?"

"Well, I made a macaroni necklace in pre-school. Renee seemed to like it."

"I think we can do a little better than pasta. You can help me choose the stones. It needs to be something sophisticated and stunning to go with the gown Rose and I are designing."

"Who's the gown for?" I asked, narrowing my eyes suspiciously. Her shameless assault on my wardrobe had to cease.

"It's not a 'who,' it's a 'what'." There's an online competition to find hot new couturiers. Rosalie and I are going to enter."

"Oh, that's cool, I guess. What happens if they choose you? Are you going to fly off to Paris or somewhere and be famous?"

"Not a good career move for a vampire, Bella. We're happy to stay behind the scenes. It would just be fun to see what other people think of our designs. I suppose we could always promote our own line, under a pseudonym, of course. I think the _Bella Swan Collection_ has a nice ring to it."

"Very funny. So what's the story on the basement. First, a fancy camera and now it turns out someone's tossed a gilt-framed oil painting down there. Maybe you need to clean it out in case there's something else valuable mouldering away among the cobwebs."

"You're awfully into decay for an immortal," Alice remarked. "Rust, mildew, mold."

"As a matter of fact, the first time I came to your house, I kind of thought there might be dungeons and coffins." I smiled, remembering my naiveté.

"Technically, I suppose there is one coffin down there. A sarcophagus really with the effigy of a knight on top – 13th c., I think, but you don't need to get spooked. There's nobody in it."

Good grief! I noticed she hadn't mentioned the dungeons. "What happened to him?"

"Haven't a clue. Before my time. It's just one of those things you collect when you've been around a while, especially if you're Carlisle."

My Gran collected little china birds. It hardly seemed comparable.

But Alice wasn't listening. Her eyes had left my face to focus on something only she could see. A few seconds later, she was back. "Renesmee's up. Esme's about to give her breakfast, and the boys are on the way back. They'll be here in about 20 minutes. Do you want some help finishing up the housework?"

"Oh, wow, no. I can do it. You go ahead, Alice. I'll be there soon," I said, pushing her toward the door. "And thanks for the painting."

"Want to know how much it's worth?" she teased.

"No! Just go."

She did and I ripped through the rest of the chores like a 1950s housewife on speed. I was pretty sure Edward wouldn't notice if the place was in shambles, as long as we were here together, but it made me feel good to take care of it – our own magical little cottage.

Besides, I wanted our daughter to have as normal a home life as possible. She was, after all, equal parts human and immortal. Who knew how much of her time would be spent in each world? I wasn't entirely sure how much an orderly, happy upbringing would weigh against the fact that she was growing up among vampires and werewolves, but, hey, you do what you can.

Not certain what to do about the wreckage in the bedroom, I decided to leave it alone. Maybe if we ignored it, the shattered headboard would eventually get reduced to sawdust and I could just sweep it out with a broom.

I checked my own appearance and then took off, slicing through the trees with swift precision, driven by a thrill of anticipation more appropriate to a separation of days, not hours. The music reached me even before the house was in sight.

Something complex and beautiful.

I was no more knowledgeable about classical music than I was about art. When I said things like that, Edward only scoffed, "You're 18, Bella, not 100." He was right, of course. We could go through eternity and I'd still be younger than him on the one hand and a year older on the other.

Yeah, normalcy was a realistic goal, all right.

The melody playing now was unfamiliar, which didn't mean much. Aside from a few well-known pieces, I couldn't tell you who composed what. It might have been the work of someone famous, or it could be Edward simply improvising. In any case, I had no trouble telling who was playing the piano.

When I walked in, I found Renesmee perched on the piano bench beside him. "Ready?" he asked her.

She held up one small hand and at his signal brought a determined finger down upon a deep bass key.

"Perfect!" Edward said, kissing her. "And speaking of perfect, look who's here."

Renesmee reacted as if she hadn't seen me for ages, hopping down from the bench and running to hug me. "I helped daddy play the song!" she crowed.

"I heard that – it was beautiful."

Edward had turned to watch us, that crooked smile playing havoc with my composure, as always. Had anybody in the whole history of the world ever been this lucky?

"Well, I'm glad to see you two survived." It was Esme, whose expression managed to be at once mischievous and affectionate. "Do you mind if I borrow your daughter? She's promised to help me with the gardening."

"Gardening?" I said, noting the rain now coursing down the windows, as they left hand-in-hand, whispering conspiratorially.

"Greenhouse. Come sit with me."

No second invitation needed. I slid eagerly onto the piano bench, my leg resting against his. He dipped his head for a quick kiss. This is how the piano strings feel, I thought inanely, and then just sat there with a goofy grin on my face.

"Any requests?"

"Nope. I'm good with whatever you want to play."

He studied my face for a moment longer, the sweetest smile on his perfect lips, and then turned back to the piano. Some of what he played was familiar; other things I was sure I'd never heard before.

Once he started something new, and after a few minutes, I asked if it was Chopin. I felt crazy pleased when he said I was right, maybe because it meant I was starting to appreciate the distinctions in the styles or maybe just because he looked proud of me.

Cullens drifted in and out of the room as he played, drawn by the music to take a break in whatever activities otherwise absorbed them. I didn't move, mesmerized by his nearness, the effortless way his fingers coaxed the melody into the room, filling it with a glorious atmosphere that spoke straight to the emotions.

Even Rosalie joined us for a while, leaning on the piano, transfixed. "That's really nice," she said at one point. "What's it called?"

"Don't know," Edward mumbled, never missing a note.

"I don't suppose you have the sheet music?" Her expression had turned suspicious.

"No sheet music."

She murmured what sounded like an expletive under her breath and left.

"What was that about?" I whispered to Edward.

"She'd like to play it."

I considered that a moment. "But she doesn't play by ear, and you don't remember what it's called, so she can't buy the music." There. That little mystery was solved. It certainly didn't take some deep insidious conspiracy to tick Rose off.

"I haven't named it yet," Edward added.

Oh . . . OH. More old resentments at work here then. "You can't help it if you're more talented than she is," I said loyally.

"And you can't help it that you're more beautiful."

I snorted, which he ignored, and I guessed that was a good thing since it's probably impossible to snort and look beautiful at the same time, and I liked how biased he was on that subject.

There were only so many keys on the piano. How could they be made to evoke such a variety of feelings – melancholy and joy and sweetness – even foreboding?

I don't know how long I'd sat there, enthralled, when other things started commanding my attention. The sure way his long fingers moved over the keys, his body so close to mine.

What was really doing me in was this rare opportunity to gaze at him when he was totally focused on something else. His profile always seemed too perfect to be real, pure masculinity, so strong, and yet watching the way his long lashes shadowed his face as he looked down, it was like I was suddenly glimpsing the little boy in him. I had an almost overwhelming rush of tenderness, along with the urge to cradle his face and cover it with soft kisses.

But that wasn't nearly the worst of it. When Edward's engrossed in something, he has this thing he does with his mouth . . .

He leaned across to reach the lower keys, his arm brushing against me, and only my superhuman reflexes kept me from jumping like I'd been scalded. I was fairly sure my marble skin would keep him from noticing that every receptor in my body seemed to be carrying on without my brain's permission.

"What?" he turned to ask me without missing a beat.

"Nothing," I whispered, perhaps too quickly.

He was watching what he was doing again, but his voice lowered to match mine, and there was the hint of a smile in it. "You're a terrible liar, Bella."

"Well, since you don't know what I'm thinking, how can you be sure?"

"Because I'm a good one." He flashed me a sideways grin.

"I'm fine, honestly. Everything's fine."

"Then why are we whispering?" He turned just enough that his intoxicating breath whisked across my face.

"All right, since you must know. When you're concentrating you do this thing with your lips . . .like. . . like a pucker."

"A pucker," he repeated, still so low no one else could hear. "And this offends you, how?"

"It doesn't offend me. It's just that I'm pretty sure when you made me marry you

– "

"_Made_ you marry me," he echoed, lifting his brows. "Nice." The treble end of the keyboard was getting all of his attention now.

"I'm pretty sure," I persisted, "that there was something in our vows that said you're only supposed to do that for my benefit."

He shook his head, chuckling softly, and for a minute or two I thought he was dropping the subject. Fine. Any second now I would unwillingly set fire to the piano bench. That should get his attention.

"Bella," he murmured finally, "Do you have any idea how often you bite your lip?"

"What? No. What's that got to do with anything?"

He played a particularly quick combination of chords that sounded like it would take at least four hands to produce and whispered, "That's my job. It was in the ceremony."

"Oh," I breathed. This wasn't helping my overloaded sensory circuits – at all. How could he focus on the music and unravel me at the same time?

"My room," he whispered, still not looking at me. "Three minutes."

"Right." I controlled the impulse to spring off the piano bench in favor of a more nonchalant effect. Rising, I smoothed my clothes, and turned slowly toward the room, half expecting to find everyone staring . Nobody was paying us the slightest attention.

Rose and Alice were curled up on the sofa with a pile of fashion magazines, already bristling with brightly colored flags to mark the most inspirational pages. Emmett sprawled sideways in an armchair intent on some electronic device, and Carlisle hunched on the ottoman, one hand over his ear while he talked on his cell phone.

It gave me an idea. "I almost forgot, I promised to call Renee. Guess I better go do that now."

My sterling performance didn't even garner a glance, as I walked casually from the room, only to fly up the stairs to the third floor, as if my speed could shorten the interminable three-minute wait. Once inside Edward's room, I plastered myself against the wall in an effort to keep my knees from shaking.

_Get a grip_, I told myself. _This is no way for a respectable married lady to behave._On second thought, it would only be more scandalous if we weren't married. I tried counting the seconds but kept losing track. It seemed like hours, but knowing Edward, he would probably appear right on the three-minute mark.

At last he slipped into the room, shutting the door noiselessly behind him.

I watched him close in on me as if in slow motion. Somebody groaned, but I couldn't for the life of me have said who. I only know we never even made it to a horizontal surface.

Afterwards we stayed so determinedly twined around each other that anyone would have thought we were facing a long separation. It was so hard to let go, so easy to put our feelings into whispered words in the euphoria that lingered like a benediction.

"I'll go down first," he said at last, stroking my cheek with his fingertips. "Take all the time you need."

"Wait, your hair!" It was sticking out all over the place. Edward grabbed a comb from the book shelf and in a few quick seconds tamed it into something that didn't scream "sex."

"Better?" he asked. He was still looking at me as if he needed to memorize my face for the short trip downstairs.

"Actually, I like it the other way. It's like a souvenir of our time together."

"You can mess it up again tonight," he promised, kissing me quickly, and vanished into the hallway.

I took my turn with the comb and made sure I looked presentable, then drifted around the room remembering the first time he'd brought me here. We had both been so tentative, so uncertain of what to do with all the powerful feelings that were changing our lives forever.

And later, the night I slept in this room with Edward next to me. That one might have turned out very differently, if we'd known what awaited us. If Edward had been certain he wouldn't hurt me, if I had managed to undo just one more button on my shirt . . .

I smiled and realized I was biting my lip. That made me laugh, but looking blissed out was probably not the best way to convince everyone that I'd been talking to my crisis-a-day mother on the phone. Hopefully, by the time I made it down to the first floor I could summon enough sobering thoughts to make my cover story believable.

The great room was now empty. I scooped up _Madame Bovary_ in passing, hoping it might give off a melancholy vibe to mask my giddiness, and found several Cullens in the dining room, sitting around the table. All of them engrossed in separate activities. Only Alice looked up when I entered.

"What took you so long?" she said – rhetorically, thank goodness. "You're just in time to help."

"I thought we were planning your darkroom."

"Not right now. The fabric came!"

"So you're working on the gown?"

"No, the jewelry, Bella – try to keep up. We have loads to do before we finalize the pattern, much less start on the dress itself. And my bead collection was right in my closet – not in the basement at all!"

"Imagine that."

"Sit next to me and we can go through them together."

I took a seat between her and Edward. He had a thick paper pad in front of him and appeared to be totally absorbed in its contents, though the cover was blocking my view. He didn't acknowledge my presence, which either meant he was playing it cool about our unexplained disappearance, or Jessica was right after all, and men were pigs who had their way with you and then lost interest.

I'd hoped she wasn't speaking from personal experience when she made that announcement, but I hadn't asked, because that's exactly what she wanted me to do, and I really didn't want to risk the story that might follow – TMI.

"Excuse me," Esme called from the doorway. "I hope you don't mind my monopolizing your daughter, but I didn't want to interrupt the two of you."

Oops! I tensed, and Edward slid me a sideways flicker of unease.

"You don't play nearly often enough," she said to him. "The music was absolutely lovely."

He might have suffered a brief shock, but his voice was smooth as satin when he answered. "Thank you. Mom, I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"Oh, and Bella, Nessie likes squash too, but not sweet potatoes. She was nodding off during dessert, so I put her down for her nap."

"Thanks, Esme. How was the gardening?"

"Delightful!" she beamed, and only her youth kept her from looking like a proud granny. "She's so patient and curious. She asked if we could plant squash and green beans."

"You're going to need a bigger greenhouse," I said, laughing.

"Well, as a matter of fact . . . oh, that reminds me I had a message about the stone we ordered, Alice. I better get back to them and see if there's a problem."

"What was that about," I asked Alice, when Esme disappeared.

"Oh, just another hobby. You'll find out."

I might have pressed her for more information, but just at that moment an impossibly long leg hooked mine under the table, capturing my calf against his.

"Bella?"

"Hmm . . . what?" I said to Alice. Oh, right, her beads.

For the first time I noticed the open tool box in front of her. Gadgets and spools of silver wire, ribbons and leather thongs, even what looked like a miniature drill. Next to it sat a smaller chest that appeared to be carved from ivory. It was this one Alice pushed toward me, saying "Why don't we each just grab some and sort them into piles."

I removed the lid and scooped out a handful of the contents, spilling them carefully on the table between us. What an amazing variety! Some looked ancient, like they'd come from an excavated tomb; others gleamed and glowed almost unnaturally. That could be just my super vampire vision that saw them like that, I decided. "How do you want to separate them – by size, or color, or what?"

"Oh, you decide. You can tell which ones want to be together."

_Want_ to be together? Next to me the corner of Edward's mouth crooked upward. I considered asking for clarification, but to Alice it probably already made sense. "Is it okay if I put all the rhinestones in one group?"

"That seems logical."

I felt like a slow-witted child trying to figure out which one thing was not like the others, watching as her tiny hands swiftly created several distinct groupings. Some of them made sense to me; others defied any method of classification that I could think of.

"Only there aren't any rhinestones," she added. "Pick out whatever you like and make something for yourself. Just leave some blue and clear ones for my project."

I looked from her guileless face to the pile of sparkling stones before me. I got the sinking sensation that calling these things "beads" was like calling the Grand Canyon a pothole. Holy crow. Thinking back to my sophomore year, I wondered just where Cullenism fit into the spectrum of economic theory.

"You know, despite your efforts to deck me out like a Christmas tree, I don't really wear that much jewelry."

She shrugged, "Try something for someone else then– maybe a bracelet for your mom – or a choker."

"Hey," Emmett glanced up from the miniature video screen he'd been scrutinizing. "Bet Jake would appreciate a nice collar."

"If only we had enough for a shirt," Edward muttered, still intent on his doodling or whatever it was.

"That isn't even remotely funny," I hissed in unison with a guffaw from Emmett. The tiny announcer in his hands was carrying on about a killer left hook.

"Really?" Edward frowned. "I thought it was rather humorous. So did Emmett."

"Emmett thinks watching grown men beat each other to a pulp is amusing."

"Hey, Bella, now don't start knocking the pulp. The pulp is good."

"What in the world are you talking about?" Rosalie asked him, coming in to plunk a thick hardcover book down on the table. All the beads in their special piles jumped in response.

"Nothing, babe. Bella's just being mean to me and Edward."

I considered chucking a bead at him, but for all I knew it might be the Hope Diamond. I took the high road and ignored him.

"What are you reading?" Alice was still sorting her treasures faster than a human eye could have seen.

"It's a psychology book from Carlisle's study. You know, this stuff is very interesting. I could seriously get into the whole finding-out-what-makes-humans-tick thing. Once you've figured out what drives them to do what they do, you can modify their behavior anyway you want."

"Ahh, you don't need that," Emmett said, grabbing her in a bear hug. "You can already get people to do whatever you want just by being so gorgeous."

"Thank you, sweetie." She paused to kiss him, then continued. "I don't mean only men. Once a person – any kind of person – trusts you, they'll lose their inhibitions and become suggestible. I know just what my office would look like – mauve and gray, soft watercolors on the walls, except for the one with my diplomas, and soothing music to help the patients relax. I could totally see myself in a psychiatrist's office."

"We all could," Edward assured her, glancing up briefly.

For a moment she didn't seem to have heard him. She sat with her lips pursed, and I was pretty sure she was picturing herself as some Hollywood version of a sexy shrink – hair in a bun, designer glasses. Bet she was wearing stilettos though.

"Wait . . . you all want to be psychiatrists?" She sounded miffed, as if we'd cut in line in front of her.

"Not what I said." This time I couldn't even see his lips moving.

I began sorting beads in majorly random ways, conscious of Emmett holding his breath, which he does when his loyalties are torn. He spends a lot of time defending Rosalie, mostly from reactions she's brought on herself, but he loves a good joke. Or a bad one.

Rosalie's self-absorbed, but she's not stupid. "Oh, I get it. Very funny. I'll have you know I just ran across a little tidbit in this book that you might find very interesting. It says here that men reach their sexual peak in their late teens. Women, on the other hand, don't get all that into it until their thirties. Wouldn't it be awful," she intoned dramatically, leaning across the table toward Edward, "for a new husband in his prime to be stuck with a wife who was never, ever going to want it as badly as he does?" She smirked at him with an air of triumph.

Everyone else looked slightly puzzled. As arguments go, it wasn't very well thought out. For one thing, there was the running joke about our inability to keep our hands off each other. I knew I was just as responsible for that one as he was. Plus, we were all roughly the same age, and if there was one problem the Cullen family didn't have it seemed to be, well – that.

"I'd thank you to keep your tiny mind out of my bedroom. Rose." He'd spoken in a low voice usually reserved for threats, but I could tell he was enjoying himself. His head bent to the task again, and he might as well have been a million miles away.

"You are such a Victorian, Edward," she scoffed.

"I was five when Victoria died," he informed her from behind the sketchpad cover. "She really didn't have a great deal to do with my upbringing."

"Oh, so I guess they proclaimed it 'The Edward Era' then, did they?" Another triumphant scowl, but Esme had just reentered the room and paused to squeeze Rosalie's shoulder.

"Yes, honey," she whispered, "only it's known as the Edwardian Age."

"Maybe, you should study history instead of psychology," Alice suggested, and she looked so sweet and cheerful that she actually got away with it.

It helped that Emmett had just enveloped his wife again and was doing a good job of distracting her, while simultaneously maneuvering her out of the room.

"We'll let you know when the Age of Rosalie arrives," Edward tossed after her, adding under his breath, "otherwise known as the Apocalypse."

Esme raised her eyebrows at him. "Quit while you're ahead – please."

He did his best to look sheepish without much success.

"Could I borrow you for just a few minutes?" Esme had turned her attention to Alice. "The supplier has a new marble that I think might be better than the one we ordered. I have it up on my computer now if you'd like to take a look and see what you think?"

"Ooh, what fun! I'll be right back, Bella." She was out of her chair in a shot, skipping after Esme. How she kept all her enthusiasms straight, I couldn't imagine.

So now she was buying marbles to go with her beads? I could have spent a long time trying to make sense of that one, but Edward and I were suddenly alone together, and there was no telling when someone else would pop back in. I lowered my voice. "What are you writing?"

"I'm not," he whispered back.

"Drawing?" Oh, good grief, not another hidden talent! No, no, no. "Drawing what?"

He frowned at the paper, still blocking my view. "It's difficult."

"What is?"

"Capturing the way you looked a while ago."

It took a minute for that to sink in. "What?" I squeaked, grabbing for the sketch pad, but it was already closed and pinned under Edwards arm on the table. Almost as quickly, he started placating, but not before I'd seen a look of pure deviltry flash across his face. "It's not what you think. I didn't mean to give you the wrong impression."

"You did too!" I accused, channeling my fury into a glare I was pretty sure rivaled some of his.

"Perhaps," he conceded, pulling off the sheepish look this time. "Just for a second. I get going on Rosalie and sometimes it's hard to stop. I'm sorry if I upset you – truly."

He had his arms around me now, leaning into me. That whisper that seemed to come from deep in his throat was tickling at my ear. "I have been trying to capture that moment – in my mind."

His lips lingered in a soft, slow kiss beneath my ear. "I want to remember that every time we're apart."

He kissed me again, a little lower down this time. "I need to remember, so I can do my best to make you feel that way again."

Another kiss and now the nerves that had been quivering deep inside made me shiver. He didn't fight fair. Not at all.

"Please say you'll forgive me." I fought to hold onto my anger, but all my concentration was on my neck where I could swear he was blazing a trail of fire with just the very tip of his tongue.

"I have a condition," I said.

"Anything. I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable."

"I want to see what's on that sketch pad."

He came up to face me then. "If that's what you want, but please don't say anything."

He opened the sketch book and I saw what he'd been doing. Straight lines adorned with the most elegant little dots and flourishes. It looked like calligraphy.

"Music," I said, studying his expression, wondering why this should make him feel embarrassed. After a moment, it sank in. "It's the piano piece Rosalie liked. You've written it down for her."

He nodded, not meeting my eyes, and I just continued to stare at him. How could one person in the space of less than an hour make me feel ecstasy, fury and an adoration so deep it almost hurt. "That's really, really nice of you," I whispered.

He shrugged. "She's quite capable of ripping it up and throwing it in my face."

I started to contradict him, but, no, he was probably right. "She may think you're patronizing her, but it's her problem if she does, Edward, not yours. You should go ahead and give it to her anyway."

He didn't commit, but I noticed his pen was still moving over the paper.

"How do you do that anyway? Argue with Rosalie and compose music at the same time?"

"It's a matter of priorities. Music's important, but giving Rosalie a hard time is a sacred duty."

"Hmm, where does making love to me fall on that agenda?"

His impish grin faded, and he hooked his arm around my neck, pulling me in for a slow, deliberate kiss. "That is my reason for being," he murmured against my mouth, his voice like sand and silk.

I was still gazing into his eyes, when Alice bounced back into the room. "Break it up, you two. I need Bella's human perspective on this project."

"Uh, you're too late, Alice," I reminded her. "That ship has sailed."

"Well, you're the closest thing we've got. I know you're allergic to phony. I want to make sure the necklace doesn't look so flashy that people will assume it's a fake. It should scream expensive – but subtly."

"Right," I said, like I had any idea what she was talking about. It's best to just go with the flow where Alice is concerned.

I watched her pick out stones, mostly green and blue, and hold them next to the little square of material lying on the table. Amazing how many shades there were; some that seemed like they'd clash with the fabric actually made it pop. Others she pushed aside. After a while she began lining them up and interspersing them with clear ones that might have been crystals – or something else.

"Is this too weird?" I asked, pulling out an elongated tear drop, unlike any of the others.

Alice proclaimed it perfect because it kept the whole thing from looking too matchy-matchy. She continued to shuffle her choices around in different configurations, totally absorbed, and I turned to Edward.

"How's it coming?" I whispered.

"A little more complex and long."

I peered over his arm and he opened the sketch pad wider. It looked to me like notes were climbing all over each other, and there were symbols that I didn't understand.

"Can Rosalie play something that hard?" I asked.

"She could, but I doubt she'll ever try."

_Madame Bovary_ was still staring up at me from the table, a little pitifully, I thought. She and Rosalie had a lot in common – an insatiable desire to be admired and loved, to scale the heights of society. Emma crashed and burned when her dreams didn't come true. Rose had been a lot luckier, finding a different kind of happiness than the one she'd been looking for. That happiness could be complete, if she'd only let go of the past.

Thinking of Rosalie gave me an idea. "Can I borrow your pen a minute?" I asked Edward.

He handed it to me and I pulled the scrap-paper marker from my book, hastily scribbling two words. I scooted the pen and paper over to Edward, who looked at what I'd written. A slow smile curved his lips.

"It might work," I said with an encouraging nod before he pushed the paper back to me.

"Bella, what do you think? I want this strand to connect to the other side, but not symmetrically. Which way looks better?"

I turned back to Alice and was soon almost as engrossed in the project as she was. I don't know how long we experimented until we agreed the necklace looked perfect. Strangely, I wasn't bored, so while she began the intricate work of drilling holes and threading the design on thin silver wire, I tried my hand at making a bracelet for Renee.

I chose desert colors and was pretty happy with the results, but ultimately returned the stones to their respective piles. Renee would only lose it, and I couldn't stand the thought of how much money that might actually represent.

It wasn't till Renesmee materialized silently between me and Edward that I realized naptime was over. After a flurry of hugs and kisses, she declined the offer to join us, even though Alice tried to tempt her with her own pile of "beads." She wanted to play hide and seek with Jasper, who had appeared almost as silently in the doorway.

"No," Edward said.

"Why, Daddy?" She placed her little hand on his arm and gave him a beseeching look.

"Because Uncle Jasper can't be trusted to stay in this zip code."

"What's a zip code?" Renesmee asked.

"Yeah, what's a zip code?" Jasper echoed. He waited long enough to win a threatening scowl from Edward before continuing. "Just joking. We're playing inside this time. One on one. The best against the best. Mano a pipsqueak."

Renesmee giggled. Apparently, this was considered a term of endearment. "Please, Daddy?"

"If that's what you want."

"And no hiding in the basement," I added as she ran to take Jasper's hand.

"Or climbing the walls," Alice cautioned, and she wasn't talking to Renesmee. She meant it quite literally, too.

"If the army had been this strict, we would have won the war," he mumbled as they left the room.

"You sure caved pretty quick," I said, cocking an eyebrow at Edward.

"It's the big brown eyes," he confessed. "They've always been my undoing."

Not half an hour had passed before Renesmee was back, wiggling under the table without a word, trusting us not to give her away. After a suitable length of time, Jasper showed up and rather theatrically asked, "Has anyone seen Renesmee?"

"I haven't been looking," Alice told him.

"Not me." I wondered if keeping my lying to few words might make me better at it.

"Sorry," Edward said, glancing up from the sketch pad, "I don't know who you mean."

That brought a muffled giggle from somewhere in the vicinity of his knees, but Jasper effected not to hear it. "Tarnation, if she isn't the best hider I've ever run across," he mused loudly. "Well, I best go look in the larder."

"The larder?" I whispered to Edward.

"He's improvising."

"Look!" Renesmee popped out from under the table, her face flushed with excitement. In her hands, she held a small purple bundle.

"Where did you find that?" I asked.

She pointed silently to her hiding place before pulling at the little gold cord to reveal a miniature claw-foot bathtub. As we were all exclaiming over it, Jasper returned. "Aha! Found you at last!"

"Look!" Renesmee commanded again, the game forgotten.

Jasper dutifully admired her find. "That's a mighty fine tub. Where do you suppose it came from?"

"Brownies," she furrowed her little brow in speculation, looking adorably like her father. "Maybe elves."

"How do you like it?" Alice dangled the necklace, completed now except for the clasp. It twinkled with tiny blue fire, at least to vampire eyes.

"Posh," I said, nodding with approval.

Jasper took it and held it up to her slender throat. "Now, it's perfect."

Alice gave him a coquettish smile. "Leave that and come help me find some containers for the different piles." She took his hand and tugged him out of the room. "You two – don't let anyone touch my stuff while I'm gone!"

Renesmee clambered up on my lap, where she gingerly picked up one of the discarded blue beads and dropped it in the little tub. "Water," she announced. Since she wasn't just "anyone," I decided Alice wouldn't mind if she played with them.

"Bubbles." I added two little clear crystals, and we took turns doing that while Edward worked on his multi-page score. So simple, and yet with my warm and happy daughter so close I could smell her unique fresh scent, and Edward's leg pressed against mine, it felt like heaven. This is what contentment means, I thought and vowed to hold onto the definition forever.

It lasted until Rosalie poked her head in the door. "Have you seen, Alice?"

"She and Jazz are looking for something to put her beads in," I told her.

Her face soured. "Beads, smeads. Those things should be in the safe. Do you have any idea what she's actually got there, Bella?"

"You were looking for Alice," Edward interrupted in an ominous tone.

She transferred her scowl to him. "I'll have you know that while you were sitting around doing nothing all afternoon, I rebuilt an entire carburetor. It's called being useful. You should try it sometime." Fortunately, she flounced off before he could reply.

"Guess that wasn't the best time to give her the music," I said with an attempt at levity. "When do you plan to do it?"

Edward made a show of checking the wide leather band on his wrist as if it were a watch. "I'm not sure. What time does hell freeze over?"

"Your first impulse was right," I insisted, anxious to encourage any effort that might ease the friction between them. He began ripping pages out of the sketch book, and for an awful moment I thought he meant to destroy them, but he simply rolled them up together.

"Don't worry," he said leaning past Renesmee to give me a lingering kiss. She didn't mind, and I liked it a lot, so we continued that way, slowly driving each other crazy until Alice and Jazz returned with a collection of little boxes.

"Sorry to interrupt," Jasper mumbled, ever the southern gentleman.

"Oh, don't mind them," Alice piped. "It's just Bella's hobby. You can use a separate box for each pile, and I'll put the rest of this stuff away."

"May I?" Edward said, gesturing to a length of dark green velvet ribbon she was about to put back in the toolbox. She handed it to him and he tied it around the sheets of music, before turning back to me. He bit his lip, and one eyebrow lifted in a question. I don't think either was done deliberately to rattle me, but they both did and made my answer a foregone conclusion. Yes, I was ready to go home.

As I was helping Renesmee return the contents of the bathtub into Alice's – according to Rosalie – negligent care, voices drifted in from the foyer, Esme greeting Carlisle. He joined us a few minutes later, pausing to admire the necklace and Renesmee's bathtub before he turned to Edward.

His expression sobered. "There's something you should take a look at," he said, pulling a folded newspaper from under his arm. "Give it some thought, and we'll talk about it later."

Edward took the newspaper, angling it so I could see. I don't know what I'd been expecting. Another newborn rampage? Some medical breakthrough that might have interested them both?

The revelation that Edward had two medical degrees of his own hadn't come until after we were married, and it took some getting used to. "You never thought that was worth mentioning?" I'd asked, incredulous, when Alice had made an offhand reference in conversation.

"Why? Would you have agreed to marry me sooner if you thought I was a doctor?"

"Don't be stupid. It's just that you have to be super smart to know all that stuff. It makes things – "

"More off-balance?" he guessed, eyeing me critically. "Honestly, Bella, I've told you before, smart isn't the issue. It's a matter of having time – 80 years, for instance, with no sleep. You can learn all you want about everything you want. It doesn't mean you have to make a career of it."

"Don't listen to him," Emmett had said. "The only reason he never hung up his shingle was cause he couldn't take me calling him 'Doogie' all the time."

"You're right, Emmett. Countless lives might have been saved if only I could have borne my idiot brother's name-calling."

Now I studied the newspaper, folded so that only one article was visible. It seemed pretty harmless – just the announcement that the Seattle Art Museum had acquired an early sketch by Picasso.

"I don't understand. What does it matter to you if the museum buys a drawing?"

"It's a forgery," he said simply.

I frowned, concentrating on the photo accompanying the article. It was black and white, just a collection of ink dots. No one – even someone with a vampire's superior vision – could discern the quality of the artwork. It could be a masterpiece or something done on an Etch-a-Sketch.

"How can you possibly know that?"

He looked at me finally and sighed. "Because the original happens to be in our basement."


	4. Mystery

Chapter 4

Mystery

I was still trying to frame a response, when he added, "I'll be right back," and snatched up the rolls of music before I could stop him. Surely, no one would tie something with a velvet ribbon just to stuff it in the trash.

Esme came in to say goodnight. "What was it that Carlisle wanted Edward to see?"

I explained about the article in the paper and what Edward had said about it.

"Does that make any sense to you?" I asked her.

"Oh, dear, I'm afraid it does, but you should let Edward explain. He knows more on the subject than I do."

What subject, I wondered. Art? Forgeries? Basements? Nothing would surprise me anymore, but I dropped the subject for now and went to tell the others goodbye.

The roll of music was nowhere in evidence when Edward rejoined us, and we stepped out into the misty twilight. Renesmee declined to be carried, flying ahead of us and bouncing back with boundless energy.

"What did you do with it?" I asked him.

"Left it in the piano bench. She'll find it someday and do whatever she wants with it."

A wave of relief accompanied that solution. Rosalie and I were slowly building an easier, closer relationship. I hated to think how that could be damaged if she flat out rejected his peace offering. I really didn't care anymore if she gave me a hard time, but mess with Edward when he was trying to be kind, and I just might give new meaning to the fearful word "newborn."

I slipped my hand into Edward's, tingling in every nerve when his fingers meshed with mine. "What is with the basement anyway? Most people seem to keep junk in theirs, but this is the second time a valuable artwork's come out of yours – not to mention an expensive camera."

"The second time?"

"Alice brought us a present this morning – a painting for the bedroom. She thinks you'll like it, but if you don't, back to the grungy cellar it goes."

Edward chuckled. "I think your concept of a basement is too normal for a Cullen. When you've lived as long, learned so much . . . been in as many unique situations as we have, you tend to accumulate a lot of . . . assets. I know that makes you uncomfortable, but it's a fact, Bella."

"You mean like Alice's bead collection? Rosalie seems to think she should be more careful with it."

He shrugged. "They belong to Alice. It's up to her what she does with them."

"But why artwork, if it's just going to be packed away?"

"As you've noticed, the stock market is not always the best place to invest your money. Alice may foresee its fluctuations, but she can't prevent them. Art, precious gems, bouillion." He looked a little uneasy revealing that last one, so I was pretty sure he wasn't talking about the beef or chicken variety. "Those things hold their value, and we like to keep them close."

"So the basement isn't exactly a dark, damp hellhole filled with dead rats?"

"Bella, there are times I'm exceedingly grateful that I don't have access to your brain."

"So what's it like then?"

"I'll take you down there, if you'd like to see for yourself. Hermetically sealed, climate-controlled, optimum lighting conditions. It's actually very clean."

I waited a moment while my image of the Cullens' house underwent a major revision. "And the Picasso drawing – that was an investment?"

"No, that was given to Carlisle by a woman whose daughter had been pronounced dead by another physician. He saved her."

"He bit her daughter?" My head, already spinning with visions of hidden treasure, leapt immediately to the most fantastic conclusion.

"No, he got her heart beating, did emergency surgery, and she made a complete recovery." He gave me an arch look. "Do you really think Carlisle's so free with his favors?"

"Well, he did choose Rosalie."

His answering smirk went a long way to squish my guilt over being catty.

"Carlisle's kept everyone he ever changed under his wing – even those who worked hard not to deserve it." I shot him a glance. It didn't sound like he was talking about Rosalie, but he continued. "That simply proves no one is perfect – even Carlisle."

"He's awfully close, though. In fact, I'm a little surprised he'd accept such an expensive gift."

"Well, for one thing, she didn't offer it at the time. She left it to him in her will, and for another, this was the early 20th century. No one realized how valuable that sketch would turn out to be."

"So what's going to happen now? Will the museum want to buy the real one when they've just spent all that money on a fake?"

"Oh, I suspect we'll simply give it to them," he shrugged. "It can't be worth more than a few hundred thousand."

I gaped at him, still wrestling with the idea of all that money, but before I could think of a reply, he shouted, "Stop!"

Renesmee was teetering on the brink of the river, so vibrant with energy that I knew she'd been about to attempt the jump. But you couldn't call her disobedient. In an instant, she was still as a stone. Let's hear it for vampire genes!

We caught up, and Edward swung her into his arms. She immediately placed her hand on his cheek, so I knew the incident was under discussion. Fortunately, one of them spoke his side aloud, so I wasn't completely shut out.

"I know you do . . . no, not until you're bigger . . . that may be true, but think what would happen to your dress . . ."

Oh, gah, it was the messing up her clothes that won the argument. Her arms went around his neck and Edward slid his around my waist. "Altogether now?" he challenged.

We took a few steps backward and sprang, landing on the other side still intertwined and laughing. Renesmee scrambled down to flit back and forth again ahead of us.

"Carlisle made it sound like you had more than one decision to make about the sketch," I said, resuming where we left off.

"We do. The matter will have to be handled delicately if the museum's not to lose face with its supporters."

That made sense. Donations must be hard to come by in a troubled economy, and it wouldn't help if patrons thought money was being thrown away on worthless fakes. "They'll keep it quiet then and you'll just give them the real one? I don't know anything about high finance, but it seems like even the Cullens would go broke eventually with that kind of transaction."

He'd kept his arm around me after the jump, and now he squeezed me a little tighter to his side. "You're a Cullen now," he reminded me, kissing the top of my head. "It's your money too, so I'm glad you're interested. Giving them the original isn't entirely a selfless act. It's meant to protect us as well."

"How?"

"A talented forger, someone good enough to fool a respectable museum, can create havoc in the art world. It destabilizes values, breeds distrust everywhere. No, if we can help put a stop to it, we have a moral obligation to do so."

"Is that really a job for a vampire?" I asked, as we cut through the tall ferns at an almost human pace.

"It isn't one that's likely to compromise us. If you think we keep a low-profile, you should see what goes on beneath the surface of the legitimate art world."

"How come you know so much about it?"

"I don't, but I know some of the people who do. We've dealt a lot with the more discreet brokers in an effort to get any of the worthwhile pieces that come into our possession back into the world where they belong."

It was a lot to take in. "But how did you get interested in art in the first place?"

I thought a shadow skimmed across his face, but his answer seemed reasonable.

"I used to spend a lot of time in museums, a long time ago. The interest stayed with me."

Renesmee was twirling around the cottage door when we reached it, and I almost felt like joining her. Coming home to our own little sanctuary, just the three of us, gave me a special thrill that never dimmed.

We spent the evening playing in her room. The bathtub had to be placed with great ceremony in the dollhouse, prompting a lengthy story that was mostly in our daughter's head. Periodically, she would grab one of our hands and make us walk our fingers through the oddly furnished house. I mean, there was a tub but no sink; a dining table, but no chairs. None of that seemed to bother her, anymore than the fact that no people lived in the house.

"Would you like to have a doll family living there?" I asked her.

"No, this family," she said, guiding my hand to the second floor. "The mommy takes a bath." I twiddled my fingers across the floor and into the tub. "The daddy goes downstairs." Obligingly, Edward walked his fingers down the steps with such amazing speed, that Renesmee giggled.

So talented, those fingers. The idea sent me somewhere else, somewhere it was not appropriate to be just yet. I pulled my salacious thoughts back to the dollhouse, where I was probably in danger of drowning in the tub. "What's the little girl doing?" I asked.

"She's hiding under the dining room table," she explained, illustrating with her own tiny fingers. "No one can find her. Not even Uncle Jasper."

Since Jazz wasn't here to slip into the role of finger puppet, the scenario pretty much ended right there. "Would you like to have a house like this one day?" I asked her.

"Maybe. When I get married."

That word startled me and not just because Renee had trained me to gag at the sound of it. I was surprised to hear it coming from Renesmee. Did she really think about such things?

I looked to Edward, who was being very silent, but smiled his encouragement. Of course, his dialogue with Renesmee was almost constant, and obviously her preferred means of communication. She had always used few words, to the point that I was a bit worried at first, but then she'd let loose with some astounding multi-syllable new one that told me it wasn't her vocabulary that was lacking, just her need to talk.

I was stuck, like most mothers, having to ask questions. "Do you think you might want to get married someday?"

She nodded.

"Who would you marry?"

She looked at me, as if I'd said something extraordinarily silly. "Daddy."

I supposed that was par for the course, according to psychologists, though I couldn't remember ever feeling like that about Charlie.

Edward stepped in to rescue me. "I'm married to your mommy, you know that, which means you get to pick someone all for yourself."

She seemed to take that traumatic announcement in stride. "Okay, a prince."

I couldn't resist. I just had to know how this imprinting thing worked. "What about Jacob?" I asked.

"No!" This time she had to laugh at the extent of my silliness. "Jacob's my best friend!"

"Now she sounds like you," Edward remarked. "Poor Jake."

I couldn't suppress a smile, relieved to know she still felt that way. I suspected Edward's relief was even greater, but I wouldn't be repeating this conversation to Jacob.

When our little girl began to yawn, Edward announced it was story time, and we both tucked her into bed. "Night, Momma," she said when she'd kissed me.

"Goodnight, sweetie. What's daddy going to read to you tonight?"

"Poem," she said enthusiastically.

"Well, that's cool." Although she still liked fairy tales, I knew they'd been reading more challenging books – _Alice in Wonderland_, _Through the Looking Glass, The Wizard of Oz_. I doubted nursery rhymes would satisfy her anymore, but I wondered what the next step might be. A.A. Milne maybe.

When Edward slipped into our room a half-hour later, I asked. "What kind of poems are you reading to her?"

"Just one, actually," he said, "but it's her favorite."

"One poem, over and over again?"

"No, not repeatedly. We haven't quite finished it."

"What's it called?"

"Uh . . . _The Illiad_."

"The _what_? Edward, that's not a poem, it's a term paper!"

"Technically, it's a poem," he said reasonably. "And she does understand it."

"Gah," I said, uneloquently and sat down on the bed.

Edward was instantly kneeling in front of me. He took my hand and pressed his lips into the palm. "I know it frightens you that she's growing up so fast. If it was in my power to slow it down, believe me, I would. But we can't, Bella. We don't even know what to expect from one stage to the next. All we can do is give her what she needs each step of the way."

"I know," I said, leaning forward to rest my forehead on his shoulder. "I'm just glad you can tell when she needs something more and give it to her. Sometimes I'm afraid I can't keep up."

"That's nonsense. You're giving her the most important thing she needs. You're teaching her how to grow into a strong, loving woman. I can't give her that, and it's essential for her happiness. Besides, the little girl isn't gone yet. There's part of her that thrives on the same things other young children do. It's probably a necessary step in her development."

"You're right," I said, nuzzling his neck before I sat up. "And you always have a way of making me feel better."

"More than one, I hope," he teased, stroking my hair. "Now, about this painting."

I wasn't even sure he'd noticed it when he came in, but he rose now and approached it for closer examination. "Sentimental. Traditional. A bit baroque."

"But do you like it?" I asked.

"I do," he smiled. "What about you?"

"I think so, but those things you just said, aren't they reasons not to like it? I mean, don't they make it _passé_ or something?"

"If you're concerned with being _au courant_, I suppose they do," he said. "It depends on whether you're more concerned with the cutting edge or appreciating the past. I've told you. I'm old-fashioned, so I'm not the best person to ask."

"You're always the best person to ask. I just wish I understood more about art. I get this one, but I don't have a clue about interpreting the abstract stuff. I feel like I ought to be more, you know, with it."

"Keep in mind, that when this painting was new, the people who liked it were very 'with it'." He cocked his head, studying the picture from another angle. "In fact, when this was introduced, it was actually considered quite racy."

"That?" I said, surprised. I'd scooted up to sit cross-legged in the middle of the bed where I had the best view of our subject. "Why?"

"Well, for one thing, it's very intimate. The boy and girl are completely alone together. See how the foliage surrounds them? They're cut off from prying eyes, not considered the proper thing in those times. And the way he's leaning in to whisper in her ear. He might just as easily accost her in some other way."

"Huh," I said, "I never would have thought of that."

"The rampant blossoms on the shrubs? Symbolic of fertility. These apples hanging just out of reach? Forbidden fruit, and the purple flowers – purposely phallic. See, how the boy's hand almost seems to caress the rope? The implication is that he's only seconds away from caressing something else. What do you suppose will happen when she actually begins to swing?"

"I don't know. What?"

"It's possible that the boy may see things that are usually taboo – the tops of her stockings, perhaps. Very erotic. And the motion of the swing – back and forth, higher and higher. Well, we're verging on the pornographic."

"Holy crow. I missed all that."

I'd been staring at this portrait of innocence, as if it had morphed into a completely different picture. Now my eyes slid to Edward, who was standing beside it, his hands clasped in front of him, looking extremely self-assured. But there was something about him – a glint in his golden eyes, the way he had sucked in his bottom lip as though to keep from smiling . . .

"Edward Cullen," I hissed, "You made that whole thing up!" I reached for something to throw at him, which unfortunately turned out to be a pillow. He didn't bother to duck, and now he was unabashedly grinning.

"By the way, I hate you," I added, snatching up a second pillow and clutching it to me like a shield. "You are such a liar, and now it turns out you have a dirty mind."

He slithered onto the bed beside me like the snake he'd turned out to be. "I rather thought you were enjoying it. Your breath quickened a little towards the end."

"I thought I was getting a lesson in art appreciation," I huffed.

"You were," he said, not even making an effort to hide his amusement.

"No, you bamboozled me, just for your own entertainment. You might as well know, I'm never having sex in this room again."

"Really?" He frowned turning to look at the painting again. "Do you think you can resist with all the sexual tension oozing from that picture?"

"There is no sexual tension in that picture!"

"If I say there is, then there is."

"And if I say there isn't, there isn't."

"Exactly. Lesson learned." He grinned down at me. "May I say, you are my favorite student?"

"No, you may not," I said, turning my back to him, still clutching the pillow. "I'm mad at you, remember?"

"I'm not sure why. If there's a dirty mind in this room, it isn't mine."

"How do you figure that?"

"This bamboozling you speak of. It definitely sounds risqué, wicked even. I'm sure I'd remember if I'd ever done such an unspeakable thing to you."

"You know perfectly well what bamboozle means," I retorted, trying to ignore the finger he was using to slowly trace the curve of my hip.

"What you think it means and what I think it means might be two different things. We don't always interpret data the same way."

"I'll say."

"Hmm. I'll have to think of a way to win your forgiveness. I know it won't be easy." I steeled myself, sensing his breath on my neck. Then he was kissing my ear in all sorts of interesting ways. "Perhaps, if I bamboozled you – very, very well . . ." he murmured with a flick of his tongue.

"You are a snake! I knew it!" I gasped, flopping onto my back, so I could glower at him the way he deserved and also because I missed his face.

"I say, we blame it all on Alice. What possessed you to let her into our bedroom in the first place?"

"_Let_ her in? Is there a way to stop Alice from doing anything – ever?"

"Extravagant bribery has been known to work."

"That's your department, not mine."

"Well, then I better make use of it if I want you to forgive me. Name your bribe – the sky's the limit."

"I know it is. That's the problem. I don't want your extravagance. I like simple things, things that have meaning besides how much they cost."

"Noted. Like what?"

"Let me think a minute," I said, sitting up and pushing my hair behind my ears. "I have to concentrate." Translation: having him in my line of vision would not help the process. I pursed my lips, drumming my fingers on the pillow in my lap, and tried to come up with something that wouldn't require either one of us leaving this room.

"I've got it!" I announced at last, turning to face him. "I want you to be my love slave."

"I thought I already was," he said cautiously.

"Not like that. The problem is you're too into it. The minute I touch you, it's all over and things get hot and heavy really fast." He opened his mouth to protest, but I put up my hand . "It's not only you. I know, I'm just as guilty, but I never get a chance to simply. . . look at you and . . . touch you, just for its own sake. I want to do that, and you have to promise not to move." I set back, delighted with my own ingenuity. "Say, for half an hour."

"Half an hour? Bella, I'm not sure that's even possible."

I shrugged. "Not my problem. You asked me what I wanted, and that's it."

His eyes narrowed, "Five minutes."

"Ha!"

"Ten."

"Nope."

"You're not even willing to negotiate?"

"Edward, what part of 'slave,' don't you understand. This is about what _I_ want. You don't get a say in it. It's not like I'm going to torture you."

"That's what you think," he muttered.

"Fine. We can just go through eternity with you unforgiven and me never having sex again or . . . you can take your clothes off."

"You take your clothes off," he challenged, but there was no way I was giving him back the upper hand. Revenge was turning out to be kind of fun.

"I'm keeping mine on," I said primly, "to make things easier on you."

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather have a Porsche?"

"Positive," I grinned. "Quit stalling."

With a sigh, he got up, and cheating me out of a bonus strip-tease, shed everything in a blur of vampish speed. In a few swift seconds he'd thrown himself back on the bed, snatching the pillow from me in the process, placing it strategically to interfere with my planned ogling.

Apparently, he considered that a point for Team Edward, because he lay there leaning on his elbow, the crooked smile back in place and his eyes practically daring me to look into them.

"You're not allowed to make a move," I reminded him.

"I'm not."

"In my opinion, you are. I think you better just stop smiling and – what was it women were supposed to do in your time to get through having sex with their husbands? Close your eyes and think of England or queen and country . . . something like that."

Edward shut his eyes, and attempted to stop smiling. "Queen, I can handle. Bohemian Rhapsody is doable, but I've never developed a taste for country."

"And I think you better stop talking too. It's distracting."

"Bella, I teased you a little. I didn't kill your puppy."

"Oh, just be quiet, Edward. It will all be over before you know it."

I crawled up on the bed next to him. Looking him over all at once proved a little too unsettling, so I started at his hairline, right in the middle of his forehead, and slowly ran my finger downward, circling his ear, following the path of one enticing sideburn to his perfect jaw.

He didn't flinch when I placed a pursed-lip kiss in the tiny hollow below his mouth or when I ran my index finger down the length of his nose. Even his eyelashes didn't flutter, as I brushed them upward into a curl any woman would envy.

I skimmed across the thick slant of his eyebrows. There was a little scar near one of them, and I wondered where it came from. Obviously, it happened when he was very young – but how? Did he tumble off a bike? Did they even have bicycles in those days?

All I could picture was the bizarre old-timey kind with one huge wheel that looked impossible to get on, much less ride. Anybody who fell off one of those would end up with a lot worse than a tiny scar; they'd probably break their neck.

Leaving the best to last, I glided over his amazing cheekbones and down to his lips, tracing first the upper bow-shaped one that turned up so enticingly at the corners, and then the full lower one, half expecting them to part at my touch. They didn't, so I moved down to his chin, so strong, so expressive when he was being stubborn.

There was another little scar underneath. I made a mental note to ask how he got them both, although they did nothing to mar the perfection of his face.

My fingers trailed down his throat, over his Adam's apple to the inviting hollow at its base. That called for another chaste kiss before moving to the elegant tendons that swept to his broad shoulders.

He was actually behaving extremely well, not moving a muscle, so I continued, smoothing my finger tips over the perfect curve of his bicep, along his marble-smooth skin to his elbow, pressing a kiss into the smooth place on the inside.

Lots of hair again on his forearm, soft and silky and strangely erotic in its masculinity. I lifted his hand to kiss the inside of his wrist, his palm and taste the sweet flesh between each of his elegant fingers with my tongue.

That's when I had to face facts. One of us was starting to lose it, and it wasn't him. Damn his precious control anyway. I brought my face close to his. "I've decided to grant you your freedom," I announced, trying to sound like I was doing him a favor.

He opened one topaz eye. "It hasn't even been ten minutes."

"You mean, you were counting?"

"I had to do something to distract myself."

"How about you give me a rain check for the other 20," I suggested.

"Only, if you promise to take it in shorter intervals. That was one of the longest eight minutes of my life."

"Deal," I said, beaming at him. His hand was suddenly in my hair, pulling my mouth down to his, and what happened after that was way better than anything a stupid Porsche could do.

"Do you know what I think?" I whispered somewhere in the dead of night. It was in one of those short intervals of perfect clarity between being totally lost in Edward and starting to want him again.

"Unfortunately, no. Tell me."

"I think I've solved the mystery."

"Which mystery is that?" he murmured, nuzzling the hollow at my throat. "Why the more I have you, the more I want you?"

"No," I gasped. I'd been counting on a good five minutes of lucid thought before I went back to lusting, and now he'd gone and cut it to a minute or two. "You'll have to stop that, if you want to hear the solution."

"I can do this and listen, too," he assured me, brushing his lips up and down my throat.

"Well, I can't. I'm not as good at multi-tasking as you are."

He pulled back leaning on one elbow. His other hand slid downward. "May I leave my hand here?"

"No! . . . Yes . . .Yes, please . . . but only if you promise to hold it still."

"I'm a statue," he said solemnly, all the time looking like temptation personified. "Which mystery have you solved?"

"About who's responsible for the dollhouse. Everyone loves Renesmee. Any one of them could have seen it somewhere in a shop or a catalogue or online and realized how much she'd like it. Any one of them could afford to buy it. How am I doing so far?"

"Good financial analysis. Not much progress on whittling down the suspects."

"Fair enough." I smiled up at him, Even when he's teasing, he has this way of looking at me, so that I know he's really listening, like everything I say is important to him. "So the logical thing to do would have just been to tell us about it. Explain that they'd like it to be a surprise for Renesmee and we would have thanked them for their generosity and helped them sneak it into the house, right?"

"Go on."

"I got to thinking, who's the one person who might find that uncomfortable – asking permission, even accepting our appreciation."

A slow smile spread across his lips. "Rosalie," he said.

"That was my conclusion. It's not so different from you not wanting to hand her that music you so carefully created for her."

"I was afraid she'd destroy it. I doubt she thinks I'd do that to a gift for my daughter."

"Of course not. She knows you better than that. She knows you'd thank her, and in some ways that would be worse for Rosalie. She's used to relating to you in an entirely different way."

"You mean like an avenging Harpy from Hell?"

"That's a little over the top, but she does like to annoy you. I've noticed it really drives her wild when you don't react. You should take the high road more often."

"You're right. There's no danger of running into her there."

"Be nice." I said, though I couldn't help smiling at him. "So what do you think of my theory?"

"I couldn't think of a better one. You know, you're amazingly perceptive for someone so recently human."

"Thanks. And you're amazingly still for someone so recently . . . active."

"Does that mean I can move my hand now?" he murmured, against my lips.

"That depends."

"Like this?"

"Oh . . . OK." It was the last coherent sound I uttered for a long time.

"Dawn," Edward whispered.

Until then I hadn't even noticed the pale coral tint washing over us both, thanks to Esme's cleverly placed skylight above our bed. We'd been lying there, faces inches apart, just looking into each other's eyes for a long time, while Edward traced the contours of my face infinitely slowly with his thumb.

"I saw something interesting yesterday," he continued after a while. "Our daughter was talking to a squirrel, mere inches from where she sat."

"That's good, right?"

"That's very good. Most animals instinctively shrink from our kind."

"I'm glad. Kids should get along with other little creatures."

"She gets it from you," he said with a small unconscious smile.

"Do you think it's weird to teach her to be kind to animals when she needs to kill them?"

He shook his head slightly, still following the path of his thumb with those honey-colored eyes. "No. We don't kill cruelly. Their lives become our lives. The Quileutes understand that."

"But can a little girl? I don't want her to grow up thinking her parents are hypocrites."

"She'll appreciate the difference. Death by vampire is kinder than falling prey to an incompetent marksman or starvation."

"Spoken like a true hunter," I mocked.

"It's what I am. We take what we need and the rest feeds other animals. Nothing's wasted."

"I wonder if it's any good, though. If we consume all the blood, doesn't that leave the meat dry and tough? If a human got a steak like that at a restaurant they'd send it back."

Edwards laugh is a beautiful thing. It makes my toes curl. I'm afraid he hasn't done enough of it in his life, so I love making it happen, even if it is at my expense.

"Bella, scavengers aren't generally known as picky eaters."

"That doesn't mean they wouldn't prefer a little au jus with their meat."

"I had no idea my wife was such a little ghoul."

"Ugh, that word again," I flopped back on the pillow.

"I'm fairly certain I've never called you a ghoul before."

"Not, ghoul – wife."

"Explain."

"I have."

"Explain more."

"The images that pop into my head when I hear words like 'wife' are just . . . and 'husband' is even worse."

"Now, I'm crushed." He didn't look crushed. He looked entertained.

"OK," I said, trying to find a new way to describe my phobia. "It isn't that those terms are too big and scary. They're too small for what we are to each other. I'm yours, Edward. I want to belong to you always, and you're not going to find that little promise in any of your modern wedding vows. Those words cheapen it somehow."

"Let me make sure I understand. I can no longer refer to you as my wife. You cringed at fiancée. You'd prefer I introduce you as 'my belonging'?"

I made a face at him, but he looked so adorable in his confusion that I followed it with a quick kiss on his delectable lips.

"You know what I think it is?" I said, before his response could make me lose the thread of an idea. "When I was little I watched a lot of old sitcoms. Renee couldn't afford a real babysitter, so it was just me and the TV until she got home. They all had women in high heels and pearls puttering around the house."

"And you were traumatized by what –the high heels, the pearls or the puttering?"

I ignored him. "Then the husbands came home all dressed alike in their stuffy suits and ties, carrying their brief cases. Supposedly, they went to work, but you never really saw them do anything. They were all just the same on every show – precocious kids, wacky neighbors. I didn't want to end up like that – just the same as everybody else."

"So, I should apologize for ruining your life."

I frowned at him. "Ruining it? You saved me."

"I wouldn't be so certain. You should know I own several suits and probably a briefcase or two. It may have escaped your attention that I don't have a job, and no one could say our daughter isn't precocious. Face it, Bella. I've lured you into a bad sitcom when you had your heart set on living in a horror story."

"That _is_ a horror story!" I grinned at him. "The husbands and wives didn't even sleep in the same beds."

"Absolutely terrifying," he agreed, looming over me. As his mouth captured mine, my whole body melded to his like a magnet. I was swiftly and deliciously losing the sense of where I left off and he began, when there was a knock at the cottage door.

"No," I protested, as he let me go. "Who can that be?"

Edward gave me one last longing glance and got up to retrieve his clothes. "Our wacky neighbor," he grumbled.

I scrambled for my robe. "Which one?"

"Jasper," he said, zipping his jeans, already halfway out of the room.

"Morning all," Jazz said in that disconcerting way he has of barely opening his mouth. "Just delivering the mail. We forgot to give it to you last night."

All the Cullen's mail was directed to Carlisle's office, thus bypassing the risk of nosy postmen or curious townspeople daring each other to see what was in some rural mailbox a safe three miles from the house.

"Is this too early?" he asked, belatedly taking in me in my hastily tied robe and Edward shirtless and barefoot. "There's just this one for Bella."

He handed it to me, and I remembered my manners. "Do you want to come in?"

"No, thank you. Neither snow nor rain nor . . . whatever . . . can keep me from my appointed rounds. See you."

"Thank you." Edward called after him, but he had evaporated into the forest.

"That's one mailman I can seriously picture going postal," I said, as Edward closed the door behind us.

"Behave yourself." He swatted me on the butt and went to the hearth to toss several logs into the fireplace. I retreated to the couch, surprised at the familiar handwriting on the large brown envelope. Renee and I typically kept in touch by phone or email. She didn't have the patience, and I didn't have the time for letters.

"What is it?" Edward asked as the first flames sputtered into life. The warmth of a roaring fire can be irritating, but we both liked the atmosphere it produced in our cozy parlour.

"Oh, gah. It's a magazine – _Parenting in the Twenty-first Century_. Apparently she's gotten us a subscription."

"Very thoughtful." He sat down next to me, tucking me against his bare chest.

I leafed through the glossy pages, scanning the titles on the articles. "I'm not sure how helpful it will be. There's not a single piece in here about how to take an elk down when the wind's in the wrong direction."

"Shocking oversight," he agreed, nuzzling my hair.

"Here's one – _What to Do When Your Child Won't Sleep_. She sleeps like a log."

"Mmm, one of her most charming attributes."

"Or this one _Are You Creating a Monster? Why Spoiling Hurts."_

"Um, yes to the first, no to the second."

"You don't think we spoil her?"

"I know we spoil her, but I haven't seen any sign of ill effects, have you?"

"Not really, no. Oh-oh, this one might be useful, _How to Teach your Child Right from Wrong_."

Edward removed his nose from my hair to furrow his brow at me. "You see that as a problem?"

"Only sometimes. Charlie wants me to bring her over this week and that's great – for both of them, but I wonder if we're confusing her with mixed messages, expecting her to act the age he thinks she is when she's with him. It's like teaching her to lie."

"It's not deceit, Bella," he said with conviction. "It's survival. She knows she'll always have to gauge her behavior to the people around her."

"How could she know that, as young as she is?"

"She's very intuitive, but more importantly it's been a part of who she is from the beginning. The rest of us had to drastically modify our behavior when we were changed. You're exceptionally good at it. Some vampires never get it right."

"Was it hard for you?" I asked, reaching up to smooth his tumbled hair. I had an absurd desire to make life easier for the boy he used to be.

"I still slip up sometimes and answer a question before it's spoken. Nessie seldom makes that kind of mistake. Even humans talk and act differently according to the particular situation. You worry too much, Bella."

"I was just worried I don't worry enough."

Edward laughed and kissed my temple. "I would have liked to spoil you when you were a little girl."

"Well, you weren't there, and nobody else seemed willing to take up the slack. No, that's not exactly true. My Gran used to do all kinds of special things for me. She had the time. Renee never did – or the money, but I always knew she and Charlie both loved me, and that's the important thing. What about you?" I was always wildly curious about Edward's childhood, though his memories were hazy. "Were you spoiled?"

He looked thoughtful for a moment. "I suppose it depends on the definition. My parents were well-off financially, so I never wanted for anything, but discipline and order were highly valued in those days. I was expected to behave properly, and for the most part, I did."

"Did you have toys?" I asked, fascinated.

"Of course." He narrowed his eyes, trying to remember. "I had a rocking horse when I was small and a wooden train on a string. Later, all I wanted was toy soldiers – entire battalions of them with cannon and horses."

"What is it with boys anyway? All that fighting stuff."

He smiled. "What did you expect – that I spent my time dressing dolls?"

"Well," I reasoned, walking my fingers through the hair that curled in just the right amount on his cool chest. "You're suspiciously fast at undressing me."

The smile widened into a dazzling grin. "And yet you've saved me the trouble," he murmured, slipping his hand into my robe.

I don't know how much later it was that we heard Renesmee stirring and hurried to get dressed.

"I need to catch Carlisle before he leaves for the hospital," Edward said, "to run a few things by him. You didn't hunt with us yesterday. Are you sure you're not hungry?"

"Not for blood," I answered with a lame attempt to bat my eyelashes at him.

"A ghoul _and_ a hussy," he sighed, flipping a jacket over his shoulder and bending to kiss me goodbye. "I don't know how I get myself into these things."

"Just try to get out of it," I said smugly.

He waggled his eyebrows at me as he left. "I don't think so."

I giggled to myself and stretched languidly. Never had I imagined life could be this amazing.

Well, life hadn't been, although it had its moments, but this non-life was seriously kicking its ass.


	5. Insane

Chapter 5

Insane

Edward phoned while I was brushing Renesmee's hair. "I know you were planning to come up here soon."

Well, if I hadn't been, his impossibly alluring tone would have changed my mind. Good thing he didn't dial a wrong number. I could just imagine a complete stranger – female, of course – hearing that voice and automatically setting off zombie-like in search of its owner.

"Bella?"

"Oh, sorry. I was thinking about zombies. What – you don't want us to come up?"

"Of course, I do, but I've agreed to help Alice check out the wiring in the basement. It may take an hour or two."

"Why you?" I asked, pressing the phone to my ear with one shoulder while I bit open a pink butterfly barrette. "Does this mean you've got a degree in electrical engineering?"

"Not even a merit badge. If the house burns down, you'll know why."

I grinned. "Just don't let her tell you it's all a matter of which wires want to be together." The barrette snapped into place in Renesmee's thick curls and she twirled around happily. "I think your daughter and I will have some girl time– talk a little, go out for a bite to eat."

"That's a good idea. Don't forget, Jacob wants to take her to La Push for the afternoon."

"Arghh, I had forgotten. Guess I better get her back for an early nap. I'll see you then."

"Counting the minutes," he said and hung up.

We had a great morning. It was only when the two of us were alone together that Renesmee spoke very much, but it was probably good for her. She told me about the latest stories she liked and her favorite characters that ran the gamut from the Dormouse to Achilles, and she wanted to hear what I'd liked best when I was little. That was probably good for both of us – to share those things before my human memories faded completely.

We were walking through the woods. Well, I was walking. She was swinging around small trees, crawling under fallen logs, leaping back and forth over the tiny stream that glittered beside us, generally doing everything the hard way and making it look easy.

"What are you and Jacob going to do today?" I asked her.

"Don't know. Maybe play pretend."

"Pretend what?"

"Maybe Snow White!" she exclaimed in the tone of one who'd just had a brilliant idea.

"I don't know. Where are you going to find seven dwarfs?"

"Not dwarfs – wolfs!"

"Oh, yeah," I grinned, "that sounds more likely. Are you sure the boys are going to want to play?"

"Jacob makes them play," she said with perfect confidence.

Man, this imprinting stuff was really hardcore, I thought, if the whole pack could be coerced to go along with it. "What about Jake – who's he going to be?"

She considered a minute, frowning, then gleefully announced, "Sneezy!"

I gulped back a laugh at the vision of Jake dutifully pretending to sneeze all afternoon. Edward was right – poor Jacob! He was going to earn every moment of happiness the future had promised him.

"You take it easy on Jacob," I said in my sternest mom voice. "Just because someone's willing to do anything for us doesn't mean we should ask them to. Maybe he could be somebody less challenging – like Grumpy."

"Noooo," she giggled. "Paul's Grumpy."

I couldn't argue with her casting, and she was already intrigued by something new – a tiny lizard scuttling up a boulder, looking for a place to sun itself. Try Arizona, I suggested mentally, as we bent to examine this latest find.

Renesmee studied it intently, not touching, and then bounded off in pursuit of a chipmunk that quickly disappeared in the weeds. And so our hike progressed, changing direction according to what new wonder caught my little girl's eye, until she wanted to run and we did, just for the pure joy of it.

"Are you hungry?" I asked, when we came to rest deep in the forest.

"I could eat a mountain lion," she declared, her cheeks glowing with exhilaration.

"No, you couldn't," I said firmly, suddenly afraid she might try.

"Just teasing, Momma." She threw her arms around me, eyes dancing at the success of her joke.

"That's good. Now we have to be super quiet if we're going to find lunch, okay?"

She nodded solemnly. Together we crept soundlessly, farther and farther away from civilization until we both caught the scent at the same time.

She looked at me, eyes round with anticipation and I nodded. Minutes later we sighted our prey, and I did the honors, though we shared the meal, like countless other girls who are watching their calories or their wallets.

Afterwards, we took the shortest route back to the Cullens'. I was afraid she wouldn't be able to fall asleep this early, but the combination of exercise and a full tummy had done the trick. She dozed off almost as soon as I put her down.

I went off in search of Edward, but found Alice and Emmett in the dining room scrutinizing the darkroom plans. "Yeah, that should work," Emmett was saying. "I'll give them a call and see what's in stock. Hey, newbie," he added, when he saw me, "what are you up to?"

"Looking for your brother. Is he still downstairs?"

"No, we finished with all that," Alice said. "I think he's talking to Esme. Oh, and Bella, the first of my photographic equipment should be at the post office in the next day or so. Do you feel like another trip to town?"

"Sure, I guess so, but isn't that stuff going to weigh a ton?"

"What are you talking about?" Emmett scoffed. "If you can give me a little bit of a challenge at arm wrestling, you can carry a few hundred pounds."

"She didn't 'give you a little bit of a challenge'," Alice corrected him. "She beat you fair and square, but you're right, Bella. Just because you _could_ lift it doesn't mean you should. That would kind of defeat the purpose of our "Bella is Human" campaign.

"Especially when you consider, who would be there to see it," I added.

Alice's eyes widened. "Oh, my gosh, I'd forgotten. Jessica Stanley's mom works there, doesn't she? She's like gossip central for the whole town. Okay, Emmett, you do it. That won't surprise anybody."

"No, just give them a major thrill," Emmett said, stretching extravagantly to show off his muscles. We both ignored him.

"Oh, what happened with the painting," Alice asked suddenly. "Did Edward like it?"

I considered my answer. I could reveal that he'd completely defamed the artist's memory or that he'd used it to make fun of his sweet, trusting wife or that it had been the catalyst for destroying most of what was left of our bed, but I settled for, "Yes, he did. Thanks, Alice."

"Oh, good, I knew he would. As long as you're here, would you mind helping me make some lists of what we need? I can read them off the plan while you write it down."

"Sure," I said, pulling up a chair.

"I'm off to check what we might already have," Emmett announced. "If Rose comes looking for me, tell her I'm in the garage thinking about screws."

"Was that supposed to be some kind of . . .?"

Alice rolled her eyes. "Who knows? Now, we're going to need five separate lists: lumber, hardware, plumbing, electrical and miscellaneous." She shoved a pen and legal pad toward me, and we set to work. We must have been at it for nearly an hour when suddenly he was there in the doorway, sending currents of warmth through my body, taking my breath away.

"Alice, may I borrow Bella for a while?" His voice could have coaxed a turtle out of its shell.

"I am suspicious of the word 'borrow', Edward," she answered coolly. "I really don't think you intend to return her at all."

"Your visions are uncanny," he said, feigning surprise. "Have you considered a career on the Psychic Network?"

"Just take her, Edward." Alice sighed in a martyred tone. "I'll muddle through the rest on my own."

"Thank you," he said courteously.

"Excuse me, you two, what am I – a library book? How about I decide who to go with?"

"Oh, well, let me see how that will turn out." Alice closed her eyes, pretending to summon the answer, but I was already up and moving to Edward's side.

"You can skip the sarcasm, Alice," I said. "I'll see you later."

"Oh, I know you will," she answered smugly.

"What?" I said to Edward, as he pulled me through the house. "Where are we going?"

"There's something I have to show you." He didn't elaborate until he'd tugged me into Carlisle's study and shut the door. "Look around. What do you see?"

"Um . . . books, lots of books, paintings, file cabinets, maybe a place we have no business being? Why, what do you see?"

He pursed his lips, scanning the room with a frown. "I see a place where I've never kissed you."

"Oh! Oh, my gosh, I think you're right."

"The situation needs to be rectified immediately," he purred, folding himself over me, pulling me against him, as he tilted my face up to his.

He proceeded to do so with such thoroughness that I began to think of other things this room had never witnessed. Apparently, I was doing a good job of transmitting those thoughts to Edward, because he pulled back, with a teasing smile. "Control yourself, love. This is Carlisle's inner sanctum."

"You should have thought of that before. I'm not done kissing you."

Happily, he wasn't done either, and we persisted in our efforts to see who would crack first, until he released me with the announcement that Jacob was on his way.

I reluctantly withdrew my fingers from his hair. "So, what – you're thinking of applying to the Psychic Network too?"

"No. it's just that his happy thoughts are so loud," he said, wincing. "I half expect him to come in wearing a smiley face shirt, although, come to think of it, that would be a step in the right direction."

I laughed. "That's just the way he is, and it's a good thing. You wouldn't want our daughter destined to be with a grouchy old man."

He smiled crookedly. "No, that's your fate."

"You're not grouchy," I said loyally. "Just kind of broody sometimes."

"Poets brood, Bella, not vampires."

"Yeah, I know. Vampires suck, but it just doesn't sound as romantic."

He opened the door and immediately, Alice's voice floated up the stairway. "If you're finished up there, Edward, Esme would like to see you again."

"She was so watching us!" I gasped, outraged.

"Why do you think I drew the line at kissing? You get Nessie ready, and I'll see what Esme wants." He vanished, and I took the stairs at a slower pace, pausing at the dining room door to throw Alice a thunderous look.

"Love you, Bella," she responded with a maddening I'm-way-to-cute-to-stay-mad-at smile.

Renesmee had just woken up. There was a minor disagreement about what she should wear. She wanted a dress. I insisted on the Oshkosh overalls Esme had bought her, but agreed to put her hair in two ponytails, which soothed her thwarted fashion sense.

Edward met us in the hallway. "Carlisle had this Fed Ex sent over from the hospital. He thought it might be important. Where's your backpack, Nessie?"

"Oops." She scrambled back to her room to find it.

We stepped into the great room just in time to hear Jacob yelling at Emmett.

"Don't forget, I can take you apart like this, or I can do it doggie-style. Your choice."

Emmett's laughter trailed after him as he left the room.

"What the hell, Jake! You're not supposed to be fighting with Emmett."

He turned, and his stupid grin nearly blinded me. "Hey, you two. How's it going? Relax, Bella, I was only defending myself."

"From what?" I demanded.

"Trust me, you don't want to know."

"Yeah, I do and you better tell me right now." My hands were automatically flexing at my sides.

"All right," he said with a sigh, still looking like the world was just one big joke. "He asked me if we greeted each other – the pack, I mean – by smelling each other's butts."

"Ewwww. What's the deal with guys always trying to gross each other out anyway? Edward, can I tell Jake to bite Emmett?"

"Hmm?" he glanced up from the letter he was reading, "By all means. Do it twice, Jacob."

"See? All settled," Jake announced, sunnily. "Nessie about ready to go?"

"She's just getting her backpack. Do you have anything planned for today?"

"Some Makah visitors showed up this morning. Whenever they come, we end up swapping stories, playing games. She likes that kind of thing." He looked over to where Edward was just slipping the letter into his shirt pocket. "Could I talk to you a minute?"

"Of course." He appeared surprised at Jacob's obvious effort to exclude me.

"Whatever you have to say to me, you can say to Bella."

My response would have been a lot less polite, and I could see that Jake knew it.

"Don't vamp out, Bells, I just didn't want to scare you. I'm 99.9% sure it's all a bunch of bull anyway. Have you guys had any company lately – I mean, visitors of the 'cold persuasion'?"

"No," Edward said. "Not for some time. Why?"

"Well, one of the pack thought they picked up something near the Whitcom Dimmel Road a day or two ago. Nobody else found anything, but we've been paying particular attention to that area. I thought if you'd invited somebody around, that would clear it up, so she'd quit bugging me."

"She?" I said. "You're talking about Leah?"

"Who else?"

"Well, just because she's a girl and she annoys you, doesn't mean she's automatically wrong, Jake. You're always so hard on her."

"I'm hard on anybody who sets off false alarms to get attention. I don't know if she really thought she smelled something or if she made it up, but it's created a lot of work for the rest of us."

"Thank you for checking it out so thoroughly, Jacob. Leah met the Volturi. She'd know their scent, and there's really no one else we need to worry about. If she's correct, it was probably someone passing through. A lone nomad isn't likely to linger where a coven is established."

"That's what I thought, too," Jacob said, before turning to me. "And it's not cause she's a girl, Bella. It's cause she's new at this and she's Leah. She's the most likely to make a mistake and the least likely to admit it. You know that's true."

He had me there. "You're right, Jake. Sorry."

At that point, Renesmee catapulted past me to grab Jacob's hand. In the flurry of goodbyes, I didn't notice Emmett's return until they'd stepped outside.

"You keep your nose clean now," he fired after Jake, grinning at his own wit, and shut the door behind them.

"Way to get the last word," I said with a disapproving frown at Emmett.

"Hey, he's cool with it, Bella. Just a little male bonding."

"Well, it's juvenile," I called after him.

"And a terrific waste of time," Edward murmured, coming up behind me. One arm went around my waist, the other across my shoulders, as he bent his head to nibble my neck.

Instinctively, I coiled back against him, melting into his embrace. "I'm really glad you feel that way." It came out like a sigh.

"And I'm inordinately glad you feel this way." His hand glided across my stomach, startling a flock of butterflies that had been trembling on their perch since his approach.

"Am I a bad mom for being glad we have this time all to ourselves?"

He pushed my collar aside to continue the slow, soft assault on my skin.

"Happy parents make happy children."

Did he just make that up? Or maybe he saw it on a bumper sticker. Who cared? I had no inclination to refute it. "Let's go somewhere and try to make each other happy." I said eagerly.

"I doubt that 'try" will come anywhere into it," he murmured, and just as I was beginning to think the foyer of the Cullens' house was as good a place as any to prove it, he let go of me and straightened up. "I need to do something first – Carlisle should see this letter as soon as he gets home."

He disappeared in the direction of the stairs. I decided to take my wobbly self outside and get a head start on our journey home. I'd scarcely made it across the driveway when he was beside me again. "What's so important," I asked as he enveloped my hand in his.

"We've been reaching out to our contacts in the art world. That was confirmation Seattle isn't the first victim. If I can get some of these people to connect, we may find a pattern, and a way to stop it."

"Isn't that up to the police?"

"Ultimately, but we have resources they lack. If we can speed the process along, then we're morally obligated to do it. There's no danger in this," he added, catching my first frisson of unease. "More like a few business meetings. It won't take long."

I stopped in my tracks, and I think my fingers tightened on his. "You're talking about going away, aren't you?" I said, facing him.

"Probably." His expression was serious now. "Only for a day or two."

"Where?"

"New York."

"But . . . that's so far away! Why does it have to be you? Can't somebody else do it?" I knew I was being selfish even as I said it, but I wasn't about to take it back.

"I'm more familiar with the various . . . elements who need to be brought together. It may take some persuading."

"What does that mean?" The emptiness that opened up inside me at the thought of his absence was quickly filling up with fear. "Edward, you can't . . . any kind of violence . . . the Volturi will know –"

"Will you stop?' he said with a note of impatience. "That's not the kind of persuasion I meant. I merely have to convince certain people to move outside their comfort zone."

"So what, you're going to dazzle them?"

"You know, your notions of the way I conduct myself are ludicrous."

"Let me come with you, then, so you can prove me wrong."

"No."

I'd nearly forgotten how stubborn he could be, but the signs were there that this argument was over. I took a deep breath, wondering whether to continue my protest or back down gracefully, when his expression softened.

"Have you forgotten what we decided about leaving Nessie alone?" he said, his intense gaze capturing my full attention as always.

No, I hadn't forgotten. We had agreed that one of us would always be there for her, when both of us couldn't be. It wasn't due to a lack of loving alternatives to care for her.

Our extended family had been an integral part of her life from the beginning, and she'd be perfectly fine staying with any of them. Plus, how many young parents had a pool of babysitters ready to annihilate anyone who threatened their charge? The least lethal among them was Charlie, and he carried a gun.

Our decision had come more from the knowledge that in the eternity stretching out before us, our daughter's childhood would be a very fleeting thing. It should never go unappreciated.

"Besides," he said, sensing victory, "all these meetings would be boring for you. They'll be boring for me. Everything in the world is boring to me if you're not at the center of it. Don't you realize that? The quicker I can make it happen, the quicker I'll be back. There's no reason to feel anxious."

Was that what I was feeling? It sounded better than selfish and whiny and possessive. "You always said it made you anxious to be away from me."

"Bella, that was because you were fragile and hell-bent on attracting every potential disaster on the Pacific Rim. I don't need to worry about that anymore."

"I'll just miss you, that's all," I finished feebly.

He kissed the top of my head. "I know."

"Do you like it there – New York?"

For a moment he looked puzzled. "I . . . I'm not sure."

It was an odd, strangely indecisive answer, especially coming from him. Most people seemed to either love big cities or hate them. "I think . . . maybe if you were with me, it might . . . change things." I studied his face, so pensive, as if he was trying to solve some knotty problem, and then his attention was on me again. "Would you like to go there someday?"

"Well, sure. There's lots of places I'd like to see." But not if they're going to creep you out, I added to myself. "Where would you most like to go?"

"At the moment?" With relief I saw that the humor was back on his face. "Somewhere private and extremely close."

"Hmm, sounds like a job for the cottage."

He grinned, and we took off together.

I was staring at the leaves fluttering above our skylight, the intricate designs they made, light and shadow, my mind a million miles away.

"What are you thinking?" Edward leaned on one elbow, looking down into my face, as if some fascinating revelation might be hidden there.

"It's silly," I said. "I don't think I can even explain it."

"Try me."

"Well, I was wondering where I go . . . where we go . . . at that moment when everything just blows away, and it's like we're nowhere and everywhere we've always wanted to be – at the same time." It did sound stupid, but Edward's eyes crinkled at the corners.

"Emmett tried to explain that to me once."

"Emmett?" I stared at him. He might as well have said he'd been discussing philosophy with the Volvo. My expression brought the lopsided smile out of hiding, and every languorous muscle in my body scrunched in response.

"It was before we were married, when I asked him about making love. He said it was the most amazing part, but difficult to describe. He called it 'OTC' – going off the clock."

"Emmett said that? I'm surprised."

"That he can tell time? Yes, I imagine that would come as a shock to quite a few people."

I laughed. "What I meant was he's just so – so physical. It's hard to imagine him talking that way."

"I suspect he was tailoring the lecture to his audience. He thinks I'm a complete prude."

"A lot he knows."

"You can hardly blame him. The hundred-year virgin situation doesn't exactly scream 'sex fiend.'"

"I repeat, a lot he knows." I smiled and brushed my fingers lovingly through the hair tumbling into his eyes. When I spoke, I couldn't keep an undercurrent of shyness from my voice. "But how do you know all that stuff? Like exactly what I want at the moment I want it. And the things I never thought of that seem like they were designed just to drive me wild?"

"Bella, I know nothing," he insisted, his golden eyes filled with sincerity. He ran one thumb across my cheek, studying my face as if it was new to him. "Except that I love you and want you to be as happy as it's in my power to make you."

I sighed. "No one, anywhere has ever been this happy." I lifted my face to meet his lips and he was ready with the sweetest, lingering kiss. My toes were curling when he stopped.

"The problem with kissing you is that I can't see your face at the same time," he said. "It's irritating."

"You probably could if you looked at me like this." I crossed my eyes for him. It was one of the few talents I'd picked up in my childhood.

He continued to look down at me. "Is this how you amuse yourself when I'm not around?"

"It beats watching football with Emmett, and besides I can see two of you this way."

"I can't imagine that you would have survived two of me," he said dryly.

I uncrossed my eyes, relieved to find that Renee was still wrong about them getting stuck that way. "You can't tell me that Emmett knows half the things you do. They're – well, some of them – are so subtle, and Emmett's so – obvious. You really should give him some tips."

"How do you propose I do that?" Edward said, one eyebrow raised in skepticism. "Slip notes into his gym bag, or simply announce that his prissy little brother is going to tell him how it's done?"

I grinned and locked my fingers with his. "I'm thinking more of a schoolroom scenario. You with a pointer in front of a blackboard with a lot of diagrams, because I suspect Emmett would appreciate pictures. You're wearing a dark suit, like you wore to prom, and a tie."

"It sounds like a rather formal school," he observed, using his other hand to play with a strand of my hair.

"Only the best for the Cullens. And you're wearing glasses – horn rims, I think." I hesitated letting that image form in my mind. "Holy crow, but you'd look hot in glasses!"

"Why?"

His baffled expression made me burst out laughing. "I don't know why really. Probably just cause you look hot in absolutely anything."

"So this is your fantasy – me in a suit and glasses, showing X-rated pictures to my brother?"

"Well, it's not my best one." I admitted, "but I really do think it's your duty to teach him a thing or two."

He let go of my hand and turned over, smooshing his face dramatically into the pillow.

I turned on my side, enjoying a view of him that I seldom had. Like all the others, this angle had its own share of breathtaking beauty. I let my fingers trail up his back, over the smooth perfect muscles, so different from Emmett's.

They were in so many ways complete opposites and yet I had no doubt that they would do anything for each other. For the hundredth time I reminded myself how lucky I was, not just to have Edward, but to be part of his extraordinary family.

My fingers smoothed over his broad shoulders and then down again. I thought he shivered a little. I know I did. Part of me wanted to make a move that would ignite him into reaching for me again, but we'd been making love ever since Renesmee left, and there were other pleasures to be enjoyed.

For one thing, it had become much easier to tease Edward since we'd been married, and I had to admit I got a kick out of it.

"You have to think of the greater good," I continued. "If you improved Emmett's game, Rosalie might be a lot nicer."

"There's an exercise in futility," he muttered into the feathers.

"See, right there. I was thinking the other day that you and Rosalie actually do have one thing in common."

"Bella, do you want me to destroy another pillow?"

I ignored him and then slid onto his back, pressing myself closely against him. "I'm just saying, that you both do the same thing when you're annoyed – you get sarcastic."

I let my fingers nestle into his wildly messy hair. It always looked like this after we'd made love – as if it had been longing to break free and our abandon had given it permission. How many decades, I wondered, had it taken him to beat it into submission, because it clearly had a mind of its own.

I scooted up a little farther and nuzzled his neck. Then I selected the perfect spot for a well-placed kiss.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm paying tribute to your beauty marks," I said primly. "Two here." I moved to the other side. "And a bigger one here."

"Those are moles," he muttered.

"To you maybe. To me they're beauty marks." I turned my attention to the little tuft of hair nestled at the nape of his neck, pushing it forward with my index finger, watching with fascination when it feathered back into place. Interesting – the only part of his hair that actually seemed to know where it belonged. "This little duck tail," I murmured. "It's just so impossibly cute."

"Bella, you're insane."

"Probably," I conceded happily.

One moment he was relaxed underneath me. The next he flipped me onto my back and was leaning over me with a devilish grin. "I happen to have a cure for insanity," he announced.

"Does it involve you and me doing things naked?" I asked hopefully.

"It does." And with that he pinned me, one arm across my shoulders, the other securing my legs, and blew a spectacular raspberry into my bare belly.

I shrieked. I couldn't help myself. It was so loud, I'm sure they could hear it in Portland., but he wouldn't stop, despite my flailing around and giggling like an idiot.

"There," he said finally, looking enormously pleased with himself. "You are now officially sane again."

I gulped back another giggle. "It's a good thing you never became a doctor. Your technique's a little unusual."

"I've never had any complaints."

"You mean you've done this before?" I eyed him suspiciously.

"You couldn't tell I'd practiced? That's rather disappointing. Perhaps another try."

"No!" I squealed, trying desperately to wiggle out of his hold, as he lowered his head again. My hands flew to my stomach. "Just who have you been practicing on?" I demanded.

He stopped and pressed his lips together, looking thoughtful. "Let me see. There was . . . what was her name? Oh, yes, Renesmee. Beautiful girl. Looks very much like you, actually."

"She likes it?" I smiled, instantly disarmed.

"She actually requests it."

"Oh, well, if she likes it so much maybe you should save that particular move for her."

"Whatever you want." He smiled, one of his sweet angelic smiles

He wasn't holding me prisoner any more, and as he lay down beside me, I scooched onto my side to look at him. Of their own volition my fingers went to his face, lightly tracing his cheekbones, the hard line of his jaw, the always enticing curve of his mouth. Again there was the familiar need for this physical reminder that his beauty was real. His lips parted slightly. Everything in me began to melt. "Do I get to make a request too?' I whispered.

His eyes were working their dazzling magic His low voice filled with gentle humor. "Does it involve you and me doing things naked?"

I managed a nod.

"Then your wish is my command," he whispered, his lips barely touching mine. "Tell me what you want."

And all I could manage to say was, "You."

We were back at the main house in time for Jacob's return.

"Momma!" Renesmee practically sprang from his arms into mine. I squeezed her tight, reveling at the feel of her vital little body, the miracle of her existence. "We had a good time," she announced, wrinkling her nose when I covered her face with kisses.

"I can see you did. Now aren't you glad you didn't wear a dress today?"

"Yeah, she got pretty dirty," Jacob admitted in a farce of an understatement. "Sorry about that. She was helping me make a fire."

"Fire? Are you crazy, Ja-"

"Bells." His tone was exasperated but patient. It was the one he used whenever I implied that he'd been less than careful with my little girl. As usual, it only took a moment for my emotional reaction to be quieted by reason. Jacob would no sooner allow any harm to come to Renesmee than Edward or I would. I knew that for a fact. Still, as a mom . . ."

"We dug a fire pit, found some kindling . . .?" he prompted.

"Yeah, yeah. I've got it, Jake." I shifted Renesmee to my other arm.

"Momma, Tobias told about a girl that turned into a rainbow, and Micah can make his tongue go all the way upside down!"

"Sounds like quite a party," I said, laughing with her. "Did you have fun too?" I asked her companion.

"I always have fun, you know that. No Jacob, no party."

"Does that mean you weren't required to sneeze all afternoon?"

"No, I . . . huh?" His cocky expression turned confused. "Bella, has anybody told you – I mean lately – that you're just a little bit insane?"

"Actually, they have, but I've got it on good authority that I'm completely cured now. Thanks for taking her Jake. She always has a good time when she's with you. I'm going to get her into the bath, but the others are all around somewhere if you want to hang for a while."

"Nah, I've got stuff to do. See you, Little Worm Wiggling." He chucked her under the chin and turned to go. "That's her Indian name for today, by the way. She chooses a new one every time we're on the res."

"Good to know, 'night, Jake."

It _was_ good to know, I thought, as the door closed behind him. It sure beat 'Nessie' as a nickname. Edward didn't get as incensed about that one as I did. In fact, he'd taken to using it himself. Traitor. I tried to explain it to him. "Who wants their kid compared to a sea serpent or whatever it's supposed to be?"

"Still, having problems with cold and wet?" he'd teased. "No one is thinking of anything but her when they use that name. Some of them might not have cared for her real name when you chose it, but they feel differently now because it's hers."

I sensed an opening there. If I chose to use it, things could get ugly. I was perfectly aware that some people didn't like the name I'd thought up. What I couldn't be completely sure of was where Edward truly fell in the controversy.

Did he really think Renesmee was a beautiful word, or had he just wanted to make me happy? I decided to keep us both happy by ignoring the question. Sometimes it's especially obvious to me that I'm Charlie's daughter.

Once in the tub, Renesmee regaled me with her adventures at La Push. She loved the tribal legends, as she loved all stories. Only with her unique mind, she actually understood them in a way other children her age never could. She was interested in everything – from the traditional foods they cooked to the symbols used in their decorations. It was a wonderful bonus that she felt that way; it boded well for her future with Jacob.

When she was out and dried, I suggested we put on her jammies for the trip back to the cottage, but when I opened the drawer to get them, I stopped short. Closing it quietly, I returned to the bed where my daughter sat looking like a towel-wrapped kewpie doll. "Why don't you pick out the ones you want?" I suggested.

She padded to the dresser and a moment later let out a squeal. "Look!" She was beaming, holding up a small purple package wrapped with golden string.

"Bring it here and let's see – don't forget the jammies."

She hustled into her favorites, a Tinkerbell print, and together we opened the present. This time a fat little potbellied stove came to light, complete with a tall black pipe and a little door that opened. "Show it to daddy?"

"Sure, go ahead." I returned the towel to the bathroom and moments later heard the music of her laughter mixed with Edward's. It made me smile as I tidied up the room. When I came out, she was perched on his shoulders, and he was saying goodnight to Esme.

We were just about to go when Carlisle stepped out of the dining room. "Could I speak to you for a moment, Bella?"

His face was so serious, I had a moment of trepidation. Maybe he was going to scold me for giving Edward a hard time about the New York trip. Maybe he was going to tell me that the whole thing was a lot more dangerous than Edward made it sound.

I followed him to the table where he began filing papers into his briefcase. "You know, I've been in here listening to the sound of my son laughing, playing with his daughter, and it occurred to me that I've never given you the thanks you deserve."

"Thanks?" Now I was really nonplussed. "For what?"

"For making it possible. You have no idea, Bella, what that means to us – to me especially, seeing Edward so happy. I'd almost given up believing it would ever happen. That's entirely your doing."

I shrugged, embarrassed. "He makes me happy, too," I said inadequately.

"Yes, but I doubt that you were as lost as he was before the two of you met. I'm sure he's told you that there was a period early in our relationship when he resented my efforts to take a parental role. It happens with most teenagers sooner or later, but when it's one of us, the consequences can be . . . terrible."

"He said he tried to avoid innocent people, and only hunt the ones who made the world a worse place to be in." My voice sounded tentative. I'd never discussed this with anyone but Edward.

"He did – and not because of anything I'd tried to teach him. It's his nature, Bella. When he grew sick of the slaughter, when he couldn't justify it to himself anymore, he came back, but he's had to live with every one of those deaths. He blamed himself for what he did _and_ for disappointing me. He let that define him for far too long. You've opened him up to other possibilities. You forced him to face the good in himself."

"Wow, I thought I just fell in love with him." I really had no idea how to respond to this.

"As the song says, sometimes love is all you need," he said with a smile, "but you're far too modest. What you went through to bring his baby into the world – well, I think you may be the strongest of all the Cullens. I just wanted you to know how proud we are to have you in the family."

He encircled me in a warm hug, and I was glad to hide my face. If I hadn't have been changed, I'd be a soggy mess right now, and red as a beet. He probably sensed that too, and saved me the necessity of coming up with a reply by telling me a quick goodnight.

When I rejoined Edward, Renesmee was bouncing up and down on his shoulders, eager to go home for the night. "Everything all right?" he asked.

I nodded, still feeling a little emotional. "Your father is a really nice man, and he loves you very much."

"I'm extraordinarily lucky, I know."

"It's not luck," I said, as he took my hand and we stepped out into the cold mist. "I think it's karma."

"Karma," he said, shaking his head. Even in the dark I could tell his small smile was sardonic. "Do you know how many lifetimes I'd need to counteract the things I've done?"

I didn't know what to say. I never did when the subject of his past arose. I could say it didn't matter to me, and he'd know I was telling the truth, but that didn't stop it from hurting him. It was so obvious in the way the subject shadowed his expression, lent pessimism to his voice.

All I could do was help him forget, love him so hard that he'd never have time to think of the bad times. As a career goal, it would probably be frowned upon by a lot of people, but that didn't matter to me either. I couldn't imagine anything more noble than bringing happiness to someone who'd had so little and who deserved so much, especially when it would make me enormously happy too.

"What are you thinking about," he asked, as we strolled through the darkness, oblivious to the rising wind.

"That the future's so bright, I gotta wear shades."

"Bella, you are seriously weird," he said, bringing my hand up to his lips, which took any sting out of the insult.

"Momma's not weird." From atop Edward's shoulders, our daughter, who seldom said a word, who had yet to see her first birthday declared, "Momma's super-cali-fragi-listic-expi-ali-docious!"

Edward and I both burst out laughing, and so the Seriously Weird Family made their way home to the little cottage hidden in the forest.


	6. Jabberwocky

Chapter 6

Jabberwocky

Watching Alice muster her troops the next morning was really pretty funny. Even relaxed, the Cullen boys loomed over her like the warriors they were, while she bobbed around brandishing her lists and chirping orders like a militant parakeet.

"Can you say Napoleon complex?" I whispered to Edward.

"I could, but the penalty would be severe."

"What would she do?" I asked with morbid eagerness. "I'll bet there's a torture chamber in the basement."

"Worse. She'd become even more annoying than usual."

"Is that possible?"

"No one's willing to find out. Why do you think we've all agreed to help on this project? The thought of Alice isolated in a dark place, focused on something that requires her full attention . . . well, you see the appeal."

I returned his conspiratorial grin. "Maybe I can give you a hand when I get back."

"My advice would be to save yourself," he whispered. "And please tell Charlie I said hello."

"Of course, I will." I kissed his smooth cheek quickly.

"None of that," Alice ordered.

"None of what? You've got a serious martial law vibe going on here, Alice."

"Don't I?" she said cheerfully. "Please, no fraternizing with my troops. They have work to do. Aren't you supposed to be going to Charlie's?"

"You're the one who knows everything. Why don't you tell me?"

She took the request literally. "Mmm. Yes, you are, and . . . oh, I'd love to see that movie again sometime!"

"Movie?"

"Go," Edward hissed, and I did, skedaddling from the war room before she could put whatever alternate plan he'd seen in her mind into action.

Charlie's call to say he'd have a few hours free this morning was actually good timing, considering Edward had pledged himself to a day of indentured servitude. Now all I had to do was find my daughter.

"Hold it," Rosalie commanded, as I passed her at the stairs. "You're not going to Charlie's looking like that."

Damn, I'd completely forgotten. "I'll just stick the contacts in," I told her. "I doubt he'll notice anything else."

"How often do you look in a mirror, Bella? Trust me, you need a little more camouflage than that, and since Alice is busy ruling the world, I'll do the honors." She grabbed my hand and dragged me off to Alice's ridiculously well-stocked bathroom. "Sit. Stay."

"Do I have to roll over, too?" I grumbled, ungraciously. I was under the impression that I'd married into this family. Right now it felt like I'd been drafted – or adopted from some animal rescue group that specialized in helpless humans.

"Play nice," Rosalie ordered, but she was smiling. "I'll make this quick as I can. No reason Alice should always have all the fun." She snatched up a puffy brush, dipped it in a couple of well-chosen jars and set to work.

"How come you escaped from darkroom duty?"

"Oh, I didn't. I'm the designated gofer. I'm supposed to run around getting anything they've forgotten or didn't realize they needed. It's a small price to pay, for keeping Alice preoccupied with a new interest. Otherwise she'd just be minding everyone else's business as usual."

"Edward said something like that too," I managed to get out despite the lip brush she'd chosen as her second weapon.

Rosalie chuckled. "He may be irritating, but I've never claimed he was stupid. A few hours of hard labor in exchange for peace and quiet – it's not a bad deal."

"Do you ever wish you had a special power – like Alice or Edward, even Jasper?"

Rosalie tapped yet another brush on the counter and began tickling the remaining dust over my cheeks. "No, never. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad somebody has them – they've saved us often enough, but the responsibility of keeping tabs on the future, the idea of other people's voices in my head? No, thank you. I like thinking about me."

Her candor made me laugh. "Did you ever consider that maybe you have a special ability you just haven't discovered yet? I had no clue about the shield thing until it came time to use it."

"That was a matter of months after you were changed," Rosalie pointed out, "not decades. If there was something, I'm sure it would have shown up by now. Close your eyes." She sprayed something sticky all over my hair and then began brushing a dull powder through it to tone down the luster.

"Well, you've got your own kind of power," I said, partly because she loved compliments, but mostly because it was true. "You didn't have to become immortal to get it."

"True," she said, taking the comment as her due. "Did you ever hear about the time we were coming back from Denali and we stopped at a gas station to get oil? The girl behind the counter went all googly-eyed over Edward, flirting and posing like an idiot. He'd already found the grade we needed, but she had to pop over and invade his personal space, trying to look helpful."

"What did he do?" I asked, suddenly alert.

"Oh, he was oblivious as usual, or at least pretending to be. I'm never sure which, because he's such an accomplished liar, but next thing you know this big burly guy comes out of the back and starts yelling at her, some pretty choice language. He tells her to get back behind the counter and before she can even do it, he's grabbing her arm – really rough.

"So, of course, this pushes Edward's buttons. I can feel him getting ready to blow, and I have visions of a mysterious massacre leading the eleven o'clock news. That wouldn't be so bad, but it's not like there are a lot of highways through Alaska. We don't need wanted posters all over the only land route to Denali."

"Uh . . . sounds reasonable." I ventured. "Then what happened?"

"_I _happened. Put your head back." She held my eyes open while she popped in the pesky contacts. "I sauntered up to Mr. Macho, opened my parka so he could appreciate the tank top and simpered about not having the foggiest idea how to put the oil in the car.

"He followed me out like a baby duckling, and I opened the hood, giving him an interesting new perspective in the process. Then I pretended to look around as if I'd never seen an engine before."

"But where was Edward?"

"That's what made it so funny. This bozo completely forgot about his girlfriend and just left her in there with Edward."

I wasn't sure whether that was funny or not.

"He gave me the usual line about why hadn't he seen me around, and I acted like I was in the area a lot and felt so disappointed that I'd never seen him before either. Was that his wife in the shop? He said no, it was just his girlfriend. I said, I didn't think it was right to interfere in other couples' relationships, and suddenly she wasn't even his girlfriend any more – just someone he worked with. It was pathetic and so easy."

"But what was Edward doing?" I interrupted. I had the distinct feeling the two of us had very different notions of what this story was about.

"Who knows?" she said impatiently. "Probably apologizing for strutting his gorgeousness in her vicinity. I don't know. The point is, I had this guy actually believing I'd be coming around to start something with him, and that's all he cared about. I told him if I heard one word about him being mean to women, I would just pass on by. So you see, I ended up doing sort of a public service."

"That's a good story, all right," I commented. It was a perfect illustration of Rosalie's special power, but a little too much of a cliffhanger for my taste. "I'm sure Edward must have come to your rescue a few times too."

She shrugged. "Cullens always help each other out." She paused with the hairbrush in midair. "Oh, but there was this one night . . ."

In the mirror, her face was transformed by a rare unselfconscious grin. "I was driving alone, going a tad over the speed limit, when I dropped my lipstick. It rolled under the brake and I lost control of the beamer just long enough to take out a mailbox, post and all."

So far, I wasn't finding this story particularly hilarious either. She could have killed somebody, though probably not herself.

"I got out to check the damage. The front bumper was all smooshed in. I couldn't believe it. One of the few good things about being a vamp is that you generally don't go running into things."

"What about the mailbox?"

"It had flown across the yard, pretty much intact, although you should have seen this thing, Bella. It was supposed to look like an outhouse with the little crescent moon over the door. I mean, who wants to have their mail put in a toilet? Tacky beyond belief. No wonder drivers used it for target practice."

"But not you."

"Of course, not me," she said rolling her eyes," but this woman storms out of the house raising holy hell about how this is the fifth or sixth time somebody's done it and she's calling the cops. I already had my wallet out offering to pay for the damages, but she wouldn't listen."

"What did you do?"

"I know you think I've got a short temper, but honestly, in a situation like that when we're trying to keep a low profile, I always ask myself how Carlisle would handle it. I knew he'd stay calm and reasonable and that's what I tried to do, but it's a little hard when someone's waving a shotgun in your face."

"A shotgun!" In the mirror, my eyes widened. The contacts held on for dear life.

"Didn't I mention that part? I'm not kidding. She was beyond furious, demanding I accompany her into the house while she called the police."

"Did you do it?" It was hard to imagine Rosalie obeying an enraged stranger no matter what kind of weapon they were wielding.

"I didn't really have a choice. I was pretty sure I wasn't going to get thrown in jail for a minor accident, but if I left the scene, they might try to find me, and if I let her shoot me a few times, it would raise other questions, so I went. She had me stand there while she called, and it was pure torture. The living room was decorated just as tastefully as her mailbox."

I'd been so engrossed in her story that the obvious had slipped right past me. Now I caught up with it. "Omigod, are you saying you called my dad?"

Rose laughed. "Wouldn't that have been horrible? No, this was out a ways it would have been the WSP, and she had a hard time convincing them it was an emergency. It wasn't till she mentioned she was holding a gun on somebody that they agreed to send an officer out before morning."

"And all this time you're just standing there?" I couldn't wrap my head around this docile version of my volatile new sister.

"Believe me, it wasn't easy. The house smelled like one big litter box – disgusting. The whole time we waited she was insulting me right and left – really nasty stuff. I hadn't itched to kill a human so much in decades. Finally, the officer showed up, and the first thing he did was tell her to put the gun away. Then he turns to me and says, 'Ma'am, have you been drinking?'"

"Guess you passed that test with flying colors."

"We never even got to the test. I walked up to him and puffed a gentle breath into his face. While he was recovering from that I twirled around a few times, touched my finger to my nose, stood on one foot, then the other – things that a lot of humans can't manage sober."

I grinned at her in the mirror. "Rosalie's special power saves the day."

"It wasn't even that. He was really trying to be professional, so he says, 'Stay calm please, ladies, and we'll go assess the damage together.' So the three of us walk all the way down to the end of the driveway, and he says, 'Show me where the mailbox was struck, ma'am.'"

"I look up, and there it stands, right where it was in the first place! Mrs. Potty Mouth is shrieking about how I knocked it across the yard, and the cop is starting to look at her suspiciously. He motions us to follow him and goes around to the front of my car, where he kneels down and checks out the bumper.

''Just a few scratches,' he announces. 'If there was impact with an iron pole, it would be buckled.' Then he turns to me and says, 'Why didn't you tell me your side of the story?'

"Of course, the real reason was that I still hadn't thought of a plausible excuse for losing control without mentioning I was fixing my makeup, but instead I told him I was afraid for my life. The woman had a gun. She was obviously crazy. He sent me on my way with an apology. When I pulled out he was making her walk a straight line while he recited the penalties for making a false police report.

"Needless to say, I couldn't wait to get out of there, although I'd begun to wonder if I wasn't the one who was crazy. I hadn't gone more than half a mile when I spotted a familiar Volvo sitting by the side of the road with its lights on. I pulled alongside, and Edward looks at me with that cocky grin. Before I could even ask, he shrugs and says, 'I was in the neighborhood. Sounded like you could use a hand.'

"We both had a good laugh right there on that dark country road, and I told him I owed him one."

I laughed too. "Did you pay him back?"

"Of course."

"What did you do?"

Rosalie had that sardonic look in her eyes again. "I refrained from kicking his ass when he insisted on bringing a human home for dinner. Now, you're all set. I don't think even Alice would have any complaints about my work."

"I'm sure she wouldn't, Rose," I said, shedding my smock and giving her a quick hug. "I appreciate it. We'll be back in time for Renesmee's nap. I'm going to put her down here, so I can stick around in case Alice needs more help."

"Can I play with her after she wakes up?"

"Of course, you can. She loves spending time with you."

"Well, I found the oddest thing at the grocery store. Did you ever play jacks when you were a child?"

"Jacks, wow. I'd forgotten all about those. Can't say I ever got past onesies without losing the ball. They had them when you were little, too?"

"Metal ones." She nodded. "Now they're made out of plastic. I thought it would be fun to show Nessie how to play."

"It might be kind of a quick game," I cautioned her.

Rosalie grinned. "I've already thought of that. I bought every package they had – ten or twelve of them."

"Good thinking." I laughed, too, and went off to collect, what was probably destined to be, the fastest jacks-player in the west.

I found her in the kitchen with Esme, who was saying, "What do you think? Too sweet?"

Renesmee smacked her lips and dimpled. "Yum."

"Oh, Bella, I tried a little experiment with some leftover peaches. Does this look like cobbler to you?"

"Yeah, of course, it looks perfect. And Renesmee obviously likes it."

"I was so afraid I'd leave something out. There's no way to tell when you can't really taste it yourself."

I laughed. It wasn't like Esme to be so unsure of herself. "You make all those incredibly detailed building plans. I'm pretty sure you wouldn't mess up a recipe."

"Well, if you think it's worth the risk, I thought you might take it to Charlie. He probably doesn't get a lot of home-baked treats."

"That's really nice of you. I know he'll love it."

We could have gotten to Charlie's a lot quicker without the car, but that would have given rise to awkward questions. It was bad enough trying to ease the Ferrari up to the house without giving the neighbors the impression it wanted to eat the driveway.

I wasn't surprised that Charlie opened the front door before I even knocked. "Who says the best looking women in Forks don't flock to my door," he greeted us, grabbing Renesmee up to give her a smooch. I made sure his welcoming kiss landed on my head, so he wouldn't get all weirded out by the cold skin thing.

"Esme made you some peach cobbler," I said, indicating the foil-wrapped dish.

"Well, that was thoughtful of her. I was beginning to think the Cullens never cooked. All those growing kids and nobody's ever chowing down when I'm over there. It's not natural."

"They . . . eat out a lot," I said, nodding.

"Well, be sure and thank her for me."

I followed him into the kitchen and put the cobbler on the counter. "What happened here?" I asked, catching sight of the table. "Looks like your tackle box exploded."

"Gonna do a little fishing. I had some vacation coming, so Billy's got us the cabin up at the lake."

"Fairies." Renesmee proclaimed, pointing at the table, where a jumble of wispy, brightly colored creations of fur and feathers winked in the pale sunlight.

"She means the flies," I interpreted.

"I know what she means," Charlie said, chuckling. "You know, you said the exact same thing first time you saw them? You must have been three or four. Renee had given you a book about magic gardens to read on the plane. You were big on fairies that summer."

"Huh." Funny how he remembered that and I didn't. Maybe because I was so young at the time or maybe because it was a human memory and fading from a mind that now thrived on heightened images.

Renesmee wanted a closer look at the fairy-flies, so Charlie set her on his lap and began explaining why there were different ones for different kinds of fish. I stood in the middle of the kitchen feeling strangely out of place.

"Can I do something to help you get ready for your trip?"

"You don't have any chores, Bells. Relax. Have a seat."

That was it. Being a guest in this house felt completely weird. I needed to do something useful. "No really, I'd like to – while you guys are bonding."

"Well," Charlie looked around. "I think the drier just stopped if you want to take the clothes out."

That felt much more comfortable. I pulled out the warm clothes and stuffed them into a laundry basket, then attempted to look like I was having a tough time carrying it up the stairs. No telling which ones he planned to take with him, so I folded everything and left them in neat stacks on his bed.

Then I wandered into my room. It was emptier now than it used to be. Most of my clothes were gone – and the books. What remained seemed to belong to a life that had ended ages ago or belonged to some other person.

Except for the memories.

Those hadn't faded at all – Edward silent and still in the corner, climbing through the window, kneeling at my bed, holding me in his arms as I slept.

Maybe they were still so vivid because they were my most cherished or maybe because those feelings had been carried over so strongly into our new life. Now that we'd crossed that boundary, I was able to view them more objectively. We had truly been playing with fire on those long, secret nights in so many ways, including risking that Charlie would find out.

He hadn't, of course. Edward was too sharp to let that happen, but if Charlie actually knew how many hours we'd spent huddled together, whispering, kissing . . . well, his hair would probably be pure white by now.

It was a wonder he couldn't sense the longing that still lingered here like an almost tangible echo. The longing and the immense restraint it took for Edward to be with me night after night and never be anything but gentle, never let either of the contradictory instincts battling inside him get past his guard.

I should tell him that I appreciated now how hard that must have been. I _would_ tell him as soon as I got him alone, which I hoped wouldn't be too many hours away because I was suddenly missing him like crazy.

I went back down to the kitchen in time to catch Chief Swan doing his impersonation of a hungry trout, much to my daughter's delight. "Too bad you missed my crappie impression," he said. "It's a real crowd-pleaser. How about you dish up some of that cobbler?"

"For breakfast?"

Charlie looked puzzled. "Well, yeah. It's fruit – pastry. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, I guess, but I've already eaten."

"Well, I've got room, and I bet Nessie would like a piece, wouldn't you, sweetheart?"

She looked to me, uncertain of the protocol, but I could tell she'd be happy to have some. "Okay," I said, "but just a little for her. Don't want to spoil her lunch."

I dished it out, and Charlie managed to eat a generous helping in the time it took his granddaughter to finish her tiny portion.

"Mmm," he said, "very pretty lady and she can cook. I got to hand it to those Cullen guys. They sure know how to pick their women. Guess I can't blame Edward for wanting to grab up the best one before somebody else did."

"Somebody else never had a chance, and you know it, dad," I said pointedly, taking the empty plates to the sink.

"You always did know your own mind, Bells. I kept expecting you to be more like your mom, flitting from one thing to the next, but you weren't like that even as a kid."

"Nope. Just stubborn like my old man, I guess." I squirted some dish soap on the dishes and washed them under the faucet.

"I've been friends with the Blacks for so long, couldn't help liking the notion of our families uniting, but I got over it."

"You should never give up on your dreams, Dad," I said obliquely, as I put the plates back in the cupboard and turned, noticing for the first time a cardboard box occupying one of the kitchen chairs. "Hey, what's all this?" Definitely not fishing gear. Wasn't that the copy of _Black Beauty_ Gran had given me one Christmas?

"I found it in the attic. A lot of your favorites from when you were a kid."

"You kept them all this time?" I said, touched.

"I figured you might need them someday. Just hadn't thought it would be so soon."

He got up, giving Renesmee his chair, and came around to peer into the box. "She's old enough for some of this stuff – there's a bunch of movies. How about this one?" He pulled out a VHS cassette, but I snatched it out of his hand.

"No, not that one!"

"What's the matter with _Bambi_? It's a classic."

"It's a horror movie. Sometimes I think Disney was a sadist who hated children. I mean, what's the one thing little kids are most afraid of – losing their mother. I'd rather she watch _Face Punch_."

"Hey, you loved that movie," Charlie persisted, looking confused. "The rabbit and what was it – a skunk?"

"Yes," I hissed, glad that Renesmee was still engrossed in her examination of the fairies. "And I cried in my bed at night every time I watched it."

"You did? Well, if you weren't such a secretive little thing, I would have tried to make you feel better."

Poor Charlie, perpetually clueless about what went on in my bed. I didn't need to add that making adorable talking characters out of what could be my daughter's next meal didn't seem like the smartest move psychologically.

"It's OK," I assured him. "What else do we have here? Oh, this is better.

She'll love this one. Sweetie, remember the story we were talking about yesterday? There's an entire movie here, just like your book. Would you like to watch it?"

The La Push production of _Snow White _had apparently been postponed, and she was pumped to see this one, so Charlie popped the tape into the ancient VCR and the three of us nestled into the couch.

"I still don't get why a young girl moving in with seven weird old men is better for her than cute little animals," Charlie whispered at one point.

I grinned at him. "Times change, dad. You've got to keep up."

After the movie, I rummaged through the box and pulled out my much-read hardback of _Where the Sidewalk Ends_. "Would you like to hear some of my favorite poems?" I asked Renesmee.

"Yeah, your mommy always liked that kind of thing. You know what poems are, right? Like _Hickory Dickory Dock_ or _Mary Had a Little Lamb_?"

"Twas brillig and the slithy toves?" my daughter said brightly.

"What's that, honey?" Charlie chuckled.

"Oh, you know kids," I interrupted, inserting myself between them on the couch. "They have their own language." I opened the book and started reading the first thing I saw, which fortunately grabbed my daughter's imagination and averted a possible literary-induced crisis.

Charlie had to be back at the station by noon. When he walked us out to the car, he brought up the cabin again. "Sue's going to join us, and the Quileute kids will be in and out. You and Edward should drive up for a couple of days. I could show my granddaughter how to catch her first fish."

"Actually," I said, as I buckled Renesmee into her car seat, "Edward may have to go out of town for a day or so."

"Is that so? You going with him?"

"Not this time. It's kind of a business trip."

"What sort of business would that be?" Charlie asked. He sounded nonchalant, but it was rare for him to ask questions about my new family, though I knew he must be bursting with them. At least this one was fairly innocuous.

"The Cullens have a lot of investments. It has something to do with that."

"Uh-huh, well, obviously they have a knack for it," he said patting the roof of the Ferrari. "This baby looks like one big speeding ticket."

"Don't worry about it, Dad. I'm a safe driver, and it's not like you wouldn't be the first to know if I got one. I'll give you a call if I decide to take you up on the cabin visit."

"Don't bother. No cell service up there. Just come on up if you feel like it. Everybody would be glad to see you, and you too, Snow White," he said, leaning in to tell Renesmee goodbye. She rewarded him with a smacking kiss.

We were barely out of the driveway when she said, "Grandpa, doesn't know _Jabberwocky_." A glance at her face showed me the same sheepish expression her father sometimes tried to pull off.

I smiled at her reassuringly. "No, that's one of those things most people don't know till they're older."

"Grandpa's old."

I laughed. "True, but he doesn't read as much as you do. I interrupted you because I was afraid he'd be so surprised he might ask questions, and it's better for him not to know the answers right now."

"Cause we like secrets," she said sagely.

"There are some secrets, we just need to keep," I reminded her gently. "When you're older, there won't have to be so many, but you don't need to worry about those things with daddy and me. Do you remember any more of _Jabberwocky_, because I'd love to hear it?"

She recited the whole poem with perfect confidence.

"I think you have a photographic memory," I told her.

"What's that?"

"Well, it's like your mind takes a picture of something, and whenever you want to remember that something, it's all there. Most people's memories don't work that well."

"Do you have one?"

"No way. I wish I did. You got that from your daddy."

"Daddy says I got my incomparable beauty from you."

I laughed. "Actually, you look a little bit like both of us."

"That's funny," she declared, giggling to prove it.

No, that's theoretically impossible, I thought to myself. But so incredibly wonderful.

We turned into the Cullens' drive and I let the car do what it wanted. No way my truck could have hugged the curves at this speed. Renesmee expressed the feeling for both of us, spontaneously caroling out "Whee!" and adding, "You drive like Daddy!'"

It was obviously meant as a compliment, but I slowed anyway as we neared the house, and pulled to a gentle stop any soccer mom would have been proud of.

I might as well not have hurried. The presence of the Cullen boys was only made obvious by the racket coming from the basement. I considered popping down there just to tell Edward I was back and maybe sneak a quick not-so-private kiss, but that would only set off a round of teasing, and I didn't want to do anything to slow their progress.

"Why do they feel like they have to get the whole thing done in one day?" I asked Esme, who met us in the kitchen. "Contractors are always dragging their feet, and they don't have the rest of eternity to finish the work."

"It's a game," she sighed, with the weariness of the long-suffering, "like everything else. They do it to challenge each other, and they do it because they can – or think they can, anyway. Like climbing huge trees in mere seconds or going fast simply because they're capable of it."

I thought about my race down the curvy drive and sort of understood.

"Plus," she continued, "With Edward leaving tomorrow, I'm sure they'd like to get it finished."

"What?" I stared at her.

"For New York," she clarified, then noticing my expression, looked aghast. "Oh, sweetheart, I thought he'd told you. I'm sure he meant to. In fact, I only heard his side of the conversation when Carlisle phoned. I may have completely misunderstood."

"It's okay," I said. "I knew it would be soon." I didn't expect to be the last one to know, however. Didn't he realize I needed some time to prepare? Esme looked so remorseful, I hurried to change the subject. "How's the food supply holding up?"

"Well, now that you mention it, we are running low on a few favorites, but I think we can come up with something she'll like. How about it, honey? What would you like for lunch?"

While Renesmee ate, I jotted down the things that Esme needed at the store. "Let me go get them for you. It's another excuse to show my face in Forks, and I'm dressed for it. Might as well use Rosalie's makeup job to kill two birds with one stone."

"That would be lovely of you, if you don't mind," Esme said. "And I get to put this little sprite down for her nap."

"Have fun with Esme," I said, kissing, my daughter's bronze curls. "And I bet she'd love to hear _Jabberwocky._"

Her lilting voice, chanting out the tongue-twisting words, followed me down the stairs, where I pulled a tote bag from the closet and went out into a steadily graying day.

This morning's gauze of cloud cover had thickened, making it impossible to tell exactly where the sun was hidden, but the air was free of mist. I decided there'd be no danger to my face paint if I made the journey on foot.

And if the Ferrari could be given full rein on the long driveway, why not me? I ran full tilt down the center for all of about 15 seconds before remembering that wind and contacts don't mix.

No one paid me any attention when I stepped out of the woods and into what posed as an urban area hereabouts. No glances in the parking lot or when I slipped into the Thriftway, picked up a basket and headed for the produce section.

For a few minutes I could have been any mom choosing healthy food for her child. It felt strangely gratifying and important, until a voice spoke behind me.

"Going vegetarian, huh?"

In the second it took me to turn around, human-style, the simple words resounded with a double meaning that quickened all my senses. They calmed almost as quickly when I recognized the speaker, a fiftyish, balding guy with a friendly face. I didn't know his name, but he worked here. Chances were he'd meant the question in its most literal sense.

"It's the only way to go, right?" I said, endeavoring to look enthusiastic.

"Don't know about the only way. I'm a steak-lover myself, but nobody can stay healthy without their fruit and veggies. Say, you're Charlie Swan's daughter, aren't you?"

Uh-oh – here came the questions. I only hoped I could answer them without raising more. Thomas, according to his nametag, deftly restored discipline to a pile of tomatoes that were threatening to roll onto the floor and continued.

"I haven't seen your old man in here for a while. You tell him Tom said there's other vitamins besides R, okay?"

"Sure. I will." I stood clutching the basket in front of me, as he grinned and moved away. Wow, that was way easier than expected. The checkout girl didn't look familiar, and I found myself back on the sidewalk in less than 20 minutes.

I could head straight back home, but it felt somehow like cheating, like I hadn't really done justice yet to Rosalie's makeup job, so I wandered uptown, pausing to look in the few windows that offered some excuse to do so. There wasn't much.

Deputy Mark's wife drove by in her minivan and called a greeting out the window, but she didn't stop.

It wasn't till I got to A Street that I saw another familiar face, though I couldn't put a name to it. She was crossing toward me, and her expression brightened when she saw me.

"Well, hello, Bella," she said, dragging a wagon full of seedlings up and over the curb. "You probably don't remember me. I'm Richie McCarn's mother. He was in several of your classes at school."

"Oh, of course, Mrs. McCarn. How's Richie doing?"

"Great, to hear him tell it. He's studying engineering at Oregon State and having a ball, but I guess we'll know more after a few report cards. How about you, any college plans?"

"Yes, definitely. Just taking a breather while I decide what I want to do."

"Well, there's nothing wrong with that. You know, I remember when you first came to Forks. Richie said there was a new girl in his class – biology I think it was – and she was super smart."

My embarrassed laugh was genuine. "I don't know about that, but yeah, that was a good class."

"He said one of the boys in there had such a crush on you. Who was it now?" She furrowed her brow, trying to recollect, and I steeled myself for a challenging turn in the conversation. "Mike Newton!" She snapped her fingers in triumph. "It was Mike. Richie said he spent so much time trying to get your attention, that he nearly didn't pass."

"Oh, sure, Mike," I laughed in relief. "He was a funny guy." That was as good a cue as any to cross the street, so I stepped off the curb. "It was really nice seeing you. Tell Richie I said hi, when you talk to him."

"I will, dear. You take it easy now."

I walked on, feeling like I'd had another narrow escape. Was that the way all my interactions with humans were going to feel from now on? Probably so, but it could be a lot worse.

What was far more interesting was the lightning fast way my vampire brain sent images through my head, even when I was thinking of something else.

The moment Mrs. McCarn had mentioned biology class, I had a full-blown image of Edward and me that first day, not as it had actually transpired, but the way he had confessed to me he'd wanted it to be, at least briefly, in his head. A movement so fast, no human could detect it, and I would have been helpless in his iron grip, his intoxicating breath lulling my senses, his mouth on my neck.

For a moment, it didn't seem like such a bad fantasy. I'd give a lot to be in that position right now.

_Idiot_, I accused myself. _This is what happens when you haven't been near him for hours – you'll settle for anything_. The fact is I would have been flat-out dead and not in a good way, my only experience of Edward a few black looks and the waves of hostility roiling my direction as I tried to fight my compulsion to stare at him.

It might have been the highlight of his existence, but I had no doubt it would have been followed by a deluge of guilt and self-hatred, as he saw his family uprooted and years of self-discipline rendered a mockery.

It wasn't even like Mr. Banner could have turned the incident into an interesting teaching tool, since he would have been massacred too, along with the entire class.

Nope, not a good move for anyone involved, and once again I gave thanks for Edward's monumental restraint. In that moment, I missed him so much I just wanted to rush home, invade the construction site and throw my arms around him, regardless of the consequences.

As I got a grip on my impulses, I recognized the store beside me as the one where Alice bought her candles. Well, there was something I could do while I was in town. Edward was always telling me I should spend money, and I could do it here. I'd buy a candle for Alice and one for Esme and Rosalie too. If they weren't into that kind of thing, they could give theirs to Alice.

The bell over the door sounded melodically as I entered, prompting the woman at the counter to look up from her ledger. She had short graying hair and sharp blue eyes that studied me over a pair of half-glasses on a gold beaded chain. Too late, I remembered the conversation Alice had overheard here between the owner and a customer about my mysterious fate.

Was it the one where I was wanted by the law, or was I just expected to be seriously deformed? Shoot, a photographic memory would be nice, although there wasn't much I could do about it either way.

The woman's face brightened suddenly, whether out of simple recognition or relief at my lack of hideous scars, I couldn't tell. "Can I help you find something?"

"No, thank you. I'll just look around."

I moved slowly through the tiny shop, pretending an interest in the objects on display. All the time I could feel her eyes on my back, and I wasn't surprised when she spoke.

"You're the chief's daughter, aren't you?"

"Yes," I turned nodding. It had never been my way to be all smiley and garrulous, but I knew too well how often people mistook reticence for out-and-out misery. I thought I better make the attempt if I wanted to leave the right impression. "This is a really cool place. I've never been in here before."

"Well, thank you. And I don't mind telling you, Forks is very lucky to have a fine man like your father watching out for us."

This was way harder than I expected. I should be relieved that she was talking about Charlie and not me, but what was I supposed to say to that? Thanks? I hadn't made him nice. In fact, I was probably responsible for some of the least nice moments in recent Charlie Swan history. "That's good to hear. He cares a lot about people."

"We need more like him," she agreed. "You know, I just got a shipment in of some darling little animal figurines. I can get them if you'd like to see them."

"Oh, thanks, no. I'm looking for something basic – in a scented candle?"

"Of course," she said, scurrying from behind the counter. "Right over here."She hovered while I examined the different scents, finally settling on a jasmine, a freesia, and a vanilla. "Oh, my, I see congratulations are in order," she exclaimed suddenly.

I looked up, not understanding until I realized her eyes were fixed on my wedding band. It was so simple compared to the eye-catching engagement ring I'd left behind that I hadn't expected anyone to notice it. But with her next statement, I realized she must have been looking for it.

"A little bird told me the chief's daughter had gotten married, but I try not to listen to gossip. In one ear and out the other. Every time you sling a little dirt, you lose a little ground. That's what I always say. And you so young, but there it is. Who's the lucky young man?"

"Uh . . . his name is Edward Cullen."

"One of Dr. Cullen's foster children? Oh, isn't that lovely. Dr. Cullen's another one this town's lucky to have. I don't believe I've ever seen the boys, but the sister – Alice – comes in here now and then. She's a darling little thing. I suppose that makes her your sister-in-law."

"Yep." I moved toward the register in hopes of escaping before she constructed my entire family tree.

"Are you sure I can't show you something else?"

"No, this will be fine." I opened my wallet to indicate I was in a hurry and reluctantly she stepped behind the counter. It seemed to me she took an inordinately long time to wrap each candle in tissue before placing them carefully in a paper bag.

"May I ask you something?" she said, as I was dropping my purchase into the tote bag.

What now? I was so close to escaping.

"Do you think there's any chance that your mother and father might get back together? I just can't imagine anyone leaving a lovely man like that, unless it was some terrible misunderstanding."

She could have asked me if Edward and I slept in the nude, and it wouldn't have shocked me more. I just stared at her a moment, thinking _you mean besides being the worst matched couple on the planet_?

"Actually, my mom's married again." I could have said more, but what business was it of hers anyway?

"Well, I'm sure he'd have no trouble finding a nice woman to take care of him. You tell him Nora sends her best, and do stop in again."

"Thank you," I said, remembering to look happy and unabused.

By the time I was outside again, heading for home, I found myself smiling for real. Renee had once told me I shouldn't be so self-conscious, that most people could care less what anyone else was doing or saying. "It's not all about you, Bella, honey," she'd counseled.

I'd expected it to be about me in the candle shop, but it had ended up being more about Charlie. I suspected he had a secret admirer there, and I hadn't even thought to notice whether she wore a wedding ring. I had, however, made a mental note to consider leaving mine behind next time I came to town.

On second thought, that wouldn't work either. I'd undoubtedly run into someone who knew about the wedding, and they'd start spreading rumors that Edward and I were on the outs. It was truly a thankless task being the object of public speculation. I couldn't imagine how celebrities put up with it.

There were no more personal encounters on the street, unless you counted our paper boy, Craig, who waved as he pedaled past. That gave me plenty of time to think, mostly about whether Edward was really leaving for New York as soon as tomorrow.

He couldn't be. I wasn't ready.

_And just when would you be ready?_ my more mature side countered. Good question. The fact was I didn't like the idea of being separated at all – not by time and space, not in a scenario where I couldn't be by his side in a matter of minutes if I wanted to be. The problem was I always wanted to be. It was selfish and childish, but most of all unrealistic.

People were separated all the time from their loved ones for perfectly good reasons, and they didn't get all freaked out about it. He wasn't looking forward to going either, so any carrying on I did about it would only make things harder on him. I resolved to suck it up and make the parting as painless as possible, but I still hoped Esme was wrong about the timetable.

I decided to stick to the main road and not cut back into the woods until I reached the Cullens' so-called drive, walking at a human pace beside the highway. My head was lowered, lost in thought, which was why I was oblivious to the motorcycle at the edge of the road and the man crouched next to it.

"So you finally found me. Been looking a long time, haven't you?"

I glanced up, startled, but even staring him full in the face brought no instant recognition. His words were meaningless.

He stood up and shoved the tool he'd been holding into the back pocket of his jeans. "You don't remember me, do you?"

His tone was falsely jovial, insinuating, and it came to me. That night in Port Angeles with Jessica, my impetuous decision to jump on a stranger's bike just to provoke a hallucinatory Edward, anything to ease the pain.

Whether it was because human memories were fading or because this wasn't one I particularly wanted to recall, I hadn't caught the scent of danger until I was practically on top of it.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled and took another step.

"Hey, you should be. I didn't do a damned thing to you even if you were asking for it, and now you're too snooty to talk to me?"

I hesitated. He was basically right. I'd been the aggressor for sure, though there was no way for anyone to understand my motivations. He could very well have forced the situation and he hadn't. "Yeah – it was my fault, totally. I was kind of out of it that night."

"You got that right. So what do you say we finish what you started? It's not like you don't need a ride." His gaze swept the wooded highway, hardly the place someone would choose for a stroll.

I resumed walking. "No, thanks, I'm fine."

"You're fine, all right, babe. Or I wouldn't be bothering with your spacey ass. Now bring it back here and – "

"Do not . . . speak to her again."

Another voice. Low, even and chilling in its absolute authority.

I turned.

Holy crow, the memory was complete! My hallucination was looming on the other side of the motorcycle, its hand on the seat.

Only it had never looked quite this furious.


	7. Lists

Chapter 7

Lists

It was a second before I realized that something was different – the biker was actually shrinking under the phantom's gaze. He was seeing it too.

"Edward?"

He didn't respond, never taking his eyes off the prey, which is what the man suddenly seemed to be as he flushed bright red and paled in quick succession before making one last attempt at bravado.

"Hey, I saw her first." The words sounded challenging, but the faint quiver in his voice ruined the effect.

"I very much doubt that. But this is the last. You will not look at her or speak to her again. Ever."

It wasn't a question and the person it was directed to didn't even pretend to take it that way. "Whatever you say, buddy. I'm outta here. No problemo."

He attempted to kick the bike into action and failed, whether out of sheer terror or an actual mechanical problem, I couldn't tell. He ended up hunched awkwardly over the handlebars shoving it down the road at a pretty good speed for a human.

"What are you doing here?" I said to Edward's back, as he watched his victim stumble out of sight.

He turned and his expression was black, eyes blazing, his jaw tight.

What was he mad at me for? I hadn't done a damn thing. I whirled and stomped off in the direction of the Cullens' drive only yards away.

He waited just long enough for us to be out of sight from the road and he was beside me, gripping my elbow, forcing me to stop.

"What the hell were you doing back there?"

I jerked my arm out of his grasp, relieved that I was still strong enough to do it. "Handling the situation. In case you've forgotten, I can take perfectly good care of myself now."

"Oh, I can see that. Letting some lowlife spew innuendos at you."

"I wasn't _letting_ him do anything," I said through gritted teeth. "I was just walking down a public highway, okay?"

"The thought of anyone talking to you like that . . . "

"Words, Edward. They were just words. If he'd tried anything, I could have taken care of it."

"Exactly what were you going to do? Break his neck in full sight of every driver on the road? We wouldn't last long with that kind of display."

"Just because you overreact to everything, doesn't mean I'm about to. I wasn't going to do anything that extreme. If he touched me, I'd just blow him off, that's all."

"That would go unnoticed," he fumed, then switched to a different register, imitating a hypothetical human, "'A big brute attacked little Bella Swan out on the highway, but of course she shrugged him off.'"

"Cullen," I snarled under my breath.

"Why would you even . . . engage him in conversation . . . at all?"

"Because I sort of know him. I think I gave him the wrong idea one night and I –"

"What?" He'd moved in front of me, blocking my path, and from the look on his face even my newborn powers weren't likely to get me past him.

_Oh no, here we go_, I thought. "It happened a long time ago – when you were gone. I went for a ride on his bike."

Edward shook his head. "I can't believe what I'm hearing." His tone was glacial, his glare still scorching. "Reckless. Stupid."

"I've told you about the hallucinations. I just did it so I could see you – sort of – and hear your voice."

"You realize you could easily have been raped or killed?"

I knew better than to mention that such possibilities hadn't really carried much weight with me back then. "I wasn't. All right? Why are we fighting about things that never even happened?"

He moved aside, and we both started walking again. Stomping was more like it, not along the regular course of the driveway, but weaving in and out of the underbrush beside it, subconsciously making the journey longer. Apparently neither one of us was in a hurry to get within earshot of the rest of the family. Nobody else needed to hear this charming conversation.

"You're unbelievable," he hissed, raking his hand through his hair.

"And you're overprotective."

"There's no such thing as overprotective where you're concerned. You're practically protection-proof."

"Then maybe you shouldn't waste so much time trying." I snapped. "And exactly when were you going to tell me you're leaving tomorrow?"

If I'd thought going on the offensive would take him off guard, I was wrong. He simply strode ahead, seething, and refused to look at me. "When I had a chance to talk to you."

"You're talking to me now."

"When I had a chance to talk to you . . . without . . . wanting to put you under lock and key."

"Great. So tell me again why I'm running around town trying to convince people I'm not in a controlling relationship."

I figured that would either make him madder or maybe, just maybe coax a smile, but neither happened. His stony expression didn't change and his tone was still cold, but he'd dropped the sarcasm when he spoke. "I said I wanted to do it, not that I would."

We huffed along in silence for a while, trampling the stupid ferns that somehow managed to be dripping wet despite the fact that it hadn't rained all day. "How did you find me anyway?"

"Alice." Terse and to the point. Why did I even bother to ask?

"Busybody," I mumbled darkly. Let him decide who I meant.

We went on like that for a mile or more before I couldn't help but ask, "What time tomorrow?"

"Early."

The word landed like a stone in the pit of my stomach. I could feel the few hours we had left crumbling away, while we wasted time being mad at each other. At the same moment, I realized that the fury he'd been radiating my direction had finally dissipated.

I might have known it had only changed direction.

"It always comes back to my actions," he said at last. There was no self-pity in his voice, just a bleak fatalism that I hadn't heard in a long time. "If I hadn't left you so callously, if I hadn't been so stupid as to believe you'd be fine with it . . ."

"Edward, don't." This time I was the one to place my hand on his arm, stopping him. "We were both stupid, okay? I shouldn't have been so quick to believe you'd stopped caring, but it's over. It doesn't matter anymore."

"All those times you put your life at risk . . . none of them would have happened if it wasn't for my blind assumption that I'm always right."

I hated it when he was mad at me, but I really, really hated it when he got mad at himself, mainly because I fought back, but he never did. Why couldn't he see that he was his own worst enemy?

"Those were my choices. You didn't make them. I did, and I can't even say I'm sorry I did, because they kept a part of you with me. That's the only thing I can't live without."

He turned to me, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, his expression had softened, the hard gold melting into honey. "I don't ever mean to make you feel that I don't trust you or believe in you," he said huskily.

"I know that. We wouldn't be here if we didn't believe in each other."

We stood there quietly, our gazes locked, while all the priorities shifted slowly back into place, and I think he was about to take me in his arms, but our meandering had brought us back to the edge of the drive, and a car was approaching from the direction of the house.

Rosalie pulled to a stop and the window shot open. "Alice wants to know what's taking you so long. She needs Edward to go to the lumber yard."

Edward was back to glowering. I was pretty sure he was about to gift her with a few sharp comments, but she held her hand up defensively. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger. I'm off to find a 400 B16.47 flange, whatever that may be."

She continued on down the drive, raising the window back up as she went. I thought she might have floored it if she'd had any idea how recently Edward had gotten his temper under control.

I sighed. "Maybe that's a good thing – a little physical exercise to work off the tension."

"I can think of better uses for it," he said, managing the beginnings of a smile. "But not when my tyrant of a sister is looking for us."

"Omigod, you're right. I believe her when she says she'd never intentionally spy on us – like in the cottage, but if she assumes we're just doing something boring and happens to peek . . . do you think we should stop sneaking off at odd times?"

"Do you?" His eyebrows arched.

"Not a chance."

"Good answer." He took my hand and just the feel of his skin against mine blew away the unpleasantness like so much smoke. "How did you know I was leaving tomorrow?"

"Esme mentioned it. She didn't realize you hadn't told me."

He nodded as we came in sight of the house. "There's something I need to help her with as well. It's going to be a busy day."

Subtext: there'd be little chance for us to steal any time for ourselves. "Is it my imagination or does Esme have a secret?"

"Only from you," he chuckled. "Don't worry, it's for everyone actually. But it's impossible to keep secrets in this house, and she'd like someone to be pleasantly surprised."

"I can do surprised, maybe even pleasantly, as long as it's not aimed only at me."

"Pleasant surprises aren't weapons, Bella. They're given, not aimed. What's it going to take to rid you of your phobia?"

"I don't know. You're the one with the medical degrees."

"Fine," he said in an ominous tone. "Prepare to confront your fears. Since I'm going to be in New York anyway, I might as well pay a visit to Tiffany. I wonder how many purchases it will take to cure you."

"Don't you dare," I shot back, though I could tell he was teasing.

"You must be the one of the few women – human or otherwise – to actually cringe at the thought of expensive presents."

"Never been normal," I reminded him.

"What would you prefer in the way of a souvenir – a plastic Statue of Liberty perhaps?"

"Nothing. That's the point. I don't want you spending one minute more than necessary back there. No shopping for souvenirs, no claiming you're easily distracted or I'll . . . I'll . . ."

"You'll what?"

"I'll put your Vanquish up on eBay."

Edward grinned. "Jasper's right, there's nothing more vicious than a newborn."

As if his name had summoned him, Jazz stepped out the front door, looking down at us apologetically. "My orders are not to come back without Edward."

"Could I interest you in deserting?" I called to him.

"No, ma'am. My allegiance is to my commanding officer." He said it loud enough for Alice to hear, but one corner of his mouth shot up in a sly grin. We all knew he was the last person who could put anything over on Alice "If I fail in my duty, it could be Chickamauga all over again."

"I thought Gettysburg was the bloodiest battle of the war." Edward said.

"Yankee victory," Jazz snarled dismissively.

"You go ahead," I said. "I need to put my car away."

Edward squeezed my hand, brushed his lips over my hair and went to join his brother.

The clouds were still piling up, but so far it hadn't dared to rain on the Ferrari. I pulled it carefully into the garage. Big as this space was, the Cullens had managed to fill it up with vehicles. There'd barely been enough room for Edward's latest addition, the Ducati.

I turned off the engine and wondered if that could be Esme's surprise – a bigger garage or a second one. I hoped she didn't think the cottage needed improvement; it was perfect the way it was, and there were more than enough bedrooms in the main house, considering no one ever used them for sleeping.

I puzzled over the possibilities while I took the groceries up to the kitchen and put them away, then left a candle in each of the girls' rooms.

I tried my best the rest of the day to find one of those special moments to sneak off with Edward again. I knew he'd be watching for an opportunity too, but it refused to present itself.

As an employer, Alice didn't offer much in the way of perks. There was probably a state law against working your employees without a break, but I doubted it would apply here: workers who never tired, never had to eat or go to the bathroom. I thought I'd been glad to leave those annoying little necessities behind, but now I could see they had their place in the realm of plausible excuses.

As the afternoon wore on, I got more and more antsy. When the boys returned from the lumberyard, they proceeded to crash and bang around the basement. I could hear them, Edward most clearly, as they argued and laughed, and usually I found that comforting – just to know he was nearby. But for some reason I was plagued with the physical need to touch him.

Maybe it was because of our fight this morning or the fact that he'd be going away so soon. Or maybe I was just now realizing how often we did usually steal time for ourselves during the day. Withdrawal was every bit as unpleasant as it was cracked up to be.

When I entered Renesmee's room, the jacks tournament was well underway. "I forgot how small her hands are," Rosalie said. "We've had to change the rules a little, but she's fast, very fast."

They persuaded me to join in. I was so used to thinking I'd be awful at anything requiring eye-hand coordination that for a few minutes I was as clumsy as I expected to be, but then I felt that new sharper focus kicking in, and we had a real game going.

Alice found us sitting on the floor, while our hands moved in a frantic blur till we all collapsed in giggles. "How are things in the construction zone?" I asked.

"Crowded and very loud. I needed a break from all that testosterone."

"You came to the right place," Rosalie said. "This is an all-girls game, and size doesn't seem to be an advantage. You're welcome to take a turn."

"It does look like fun," she sighed, "but I'm a little busy right now."

"You think that's it, Nessie?" Rosalie asked with a wink. "Or maybe Aunt Alice doesn't like games that move too fast for her visions to be any help."

"Daddy says cheating's wrong." Renesmee informed us.

"Oh," Rosalie scoffed, "Like your daddy nev –"

"Rose!" Alice and I warned in unison.

To her credit Rose recovered quickly. "Like your daddy says, cheating's wrong, but if you stick with us girls, you'll never have to resort to it. So what do you have to do, Alice?"

"I want to compare these receipts to the lists we made to see if we've forgotten anything before the stores close."

"I'll help," I offered, hopping up. We left Renesmee and Rosalie to continue their game and took the paperwork to the dining room where we spent the better part of an hour trying to match the cryptic cash register shorthand to our hand-written items.

Once Alice was satisfied that we had everything we needed, she vanished downstairs. I was tempted to follow her, but there probably wasn't room for another body, however small.

I played with Renesmee and the two of us joined Rosalie, who seldom got custody of the remote, for a documentary on penguins. It was pretty darned adorable. Renesmee sat rapt, hardly blinking. Even Rose appeared totally involved, which surprised me because I knew she usually reserved her attention for subjects that related to her in some obvious way.

So what was my problem? Who thinks about sex when they're watching cute little birds waddle around an ice floe? Because that's what it had come to. My longing to simply see Edward in this frustratingly Edwardless day, had morphed into more specific fantasies in which just seeing or talking to him was no longer enough.

When the show ended, I excused myself to take a walk, hoping the fresh air would cool my libido. The house had grown darker, as more and more clouds squeezed into the sky, until it was hard to tell if day had slipped into night.

Esme had begun flipping on lights, and still the clatter in the basement went on. I stepped outside, amazed that it wasn't raining, though the sky was black and swollen with it, and trudged off across the lawn.

Hadn't I been worried that as a newborn vampire, I might not want Edward as badly as I had before? Well, everybody said I wasn't a typical newborn, but was this really normal – this constant fixation on getting as close to him as it was physically possible to get?

A thrill ran through me, head to toe, just thinking about the concept. Maybe I _was_ a hussy, that funny old-fashioned word Edward had teased me with yesterday. The notion triggered a little mini-epiphany in my head – why I was uncomfortable with these rampant desires.

We might be close in age, but we'd been raised in entirely different worlds. I grew up when having a satisfying sex life was something most people wanted. From what I'd read of Edward's time, women weren't even supposed to know about sex, much less enjoy it. That was the prerogative of men, who married good girls, expecting them to endure the ultimate indignity for the sake of having children, and then ran around with bad ones – like dancehall floozies and actresses– who had somehow caught on that the whole thing could be fun. For that, they were ostracized from society.

What a crock.

But what if that double standard had been planted early in Edward's psyche? What if he looked at me one day and decided he'd married a strumpet instead of a fine woman like his mother? Yes, I'd been the aggressor through much of our relationship, but his denial had made sense then – at least to him.

Now that we were married, he'd been nothing but pleased when I took the initiative. Hadn't he? It seemed to me our desire was always mutual, no matter who started it, but would there come a day when he'd perceive my eagerness as evidence that I didn't belong on the pedestal where he'd placed me, but in some seedy music hall where men spat on the floor and yelled lewd comments at the stage?

Arghh. I was driving myself bonkers, and the clouds had picked this moment to let loose, large frigid drops that promised to turn into something worse. I turned back to the house, blaming my raging hormones for creating problems where they showed no signs of existing.

"The boys are finishing up in the basement," Esme greeted me. "It shouldn't be long. They really did a terrific job."

"That must mean they actually followed the plans you drew up?" I asked, shaking the raindrops from my hair.

"Amazingly, yes." She laughed. "You know, if you like, you're welcome to leave Nessie with us again tonight."

I hesitated. Was my mood that obvious? Could she tell how desperate I was to be alone with Edward? I hoped I wasn't all that transparent, but having a mother-in-law who was sensitive to my feelings wasn't exactly a bad thing. "Thanks, Esme," I said finally, "but I'd just like for the three of us to be together tonight – in our own little home."

"I understand completely," she said. "I'll tell you what. Why don't you wait for Edward and I'll take Nessie down to the cottage and get her ready for bed before this storm gets any worse."

"Are you sure? Don't you have things to do?"

"Nothing as enjoyable as that. Carlisle's needed at the hospital tonight, so really I'm completely free, and she's anxious to show me the new furniture in her dollhouse."

"That's weird, isn't it? How new pieces just keep showing up at random?"

"Very mysterious. She thinks it's magic."

"I wonder if that's good. She really should be thanking whoever's gone to all this trouble."

"Nonsense. Children need magic at her age – whatever that age may be exactly," she amended ruefully. "It stimulates imagination and creativity."

"You're a really creative person, Esme. Does that mean you had an active imagination when you were little?"

"Afraid so. I'll have you know I spent an entire year searching for the secret passage that led from our house to the Emerald City."

"Were you disappointed when you didn't find it?" I asked.

"What makes you think I didn't?" She laughed and gave me a hug. "I'll go get Nessie."

And just like that Esme shot to the top of my list of suspects for Furniture Buyer Extraordinaire. She could easily have placed the package under the dining room table, as well as the one in the drawer here at the house. Of course, she had a key for the cottage.

I ticked off three other finds that she could feasibly have planted. Then my theory came tumbling down. The one Renesmee had found by a rock when she was playing hide and seek. Esme hadn't been in on that game. She'd never left the house and had no way of knowing where the players would go.

I was working backward from the hide-and-seek incident to see which of the participants could have been responsible for the other presents, when Esme returned with my daughter, bundled into a yellow mackintosh and boots.

"Do you know what you look like?" I teased her, as I kissed her goodnight, "Your rubber ducky." She was still chortling musically when they plunged out into the rain, Esme running so effortlessly and gracefully with her precious burden that it almost seemed she darted between the drops.

Nearly an hour had passed, an hour while I waited impatiently for Edward with images of him assaulting my one-track mind, when Esme called my cell phone.

"Tell Edward he doesn't need to hurry down for story time. She's out like a light, and I'll be perfectly happy to sit here all night long. Do you know, watching someone sleep is really rather fascinating?"

"So I've heard," I told her. "Thanks, Esme."

A few minutes later, the boys finally emerged from the hellhole/museum that is the Cullens' basement. Of course, I only saw one of them. I'd prepared myself for the jolt but it came anyway. His clothes were filthy, his hair sprinkled with sawdust. He looked glorious.

I fought the urge to fling myself at him, afraid of appearing too strumpety, even when his smile flashed in my direction. He came over and perched on the arm of the couch where I was sitting with _Madame Bovary_ unread on my lap. I expected a kiss or at least that he'd put his arm around me, but that didn't happen.

Instead, he rubbed his hands abstractedly on his thighs. There was something odd in his expression even as his voice held its familiar velvety warmth. "I'm sorry I couldn't be with you more today. Were you bored?"

"No," I answered hurriedly. "I've been fine. Your mom took Renesmee down to the cottage. She's already fast asleep."

"I'm sorry I missed her."

"Esme said you really did a good job on the darkroom. I hope Alice appreciates all the hard work."

"Oh, I do! I do!" The tyrant in question danced into the room, her perfect face a beacon of pure joy. "It's completely ready for the equipment. Oh, I have the best brothers in the whole wide world!"

"Yeah, thanks for noticing." Emmett grinned before booming, "Rose, where are you, babe? I need a shower!"

"Are you ready to leave?" Edward asked quietly.

"Sure." I jumped up and headed for the door, hyper-aware of him close behind me.

We stepped into a raging downpour that even Forks could be proud of. I hardly felt it, too surprised when Edward didn't take my hand as usual. He wasn't even looking at me, his mouth set in a determined line. Without a word, he took off for the first dense grove of trees, and all I could do was follow.

He stopped there. Still silent. Still keeping his distance. My stomach began tying itself into knots. Something was very wrong. This was too much like another time, a time I still couldn't think of without feeling physically ill.

"Edward, what's the matter," I blurted, unable to bear the suspense. "Are you still mad at me about this morning?"

"Mad?" His eyes flicked over me briefly. "No, I'm not mad."

Of course, he wasn't. We'd always argued – from the very beginning, but it never meant anything. Our angry words were like choppy waves on the surface of a calm, fathomless sea that nothing could disturb. But if not that, what?

"Well, something's obviously wrong. You've got to tell me."

He didn't respond, didn't even look at me, which only infused my next attempt with a note of panic. "Please, whatever it is, I need to know."

"Even if it destroys your favorable image of me?"

"Nothing can do that, and you know it. Come on, you're scaring me."

"I'm scaring you?" His laugh was sharp and without humor. "I scare myself. You're so sure I have some kind of preternatural control over my baser instincts. Sometimes I believe it myself, but it's an illusion, I assure you."

What was he talking about? An urge to kill that wretched biker this morning? I'd felt a little of that myself, but neither one of us had acted on it.

"Edward, I'm not budging until you tell me exactly what you're thinking."

"Be careful what you ask for," he said blackly. "What I'm thinking . . . what I can't get out of my mind . . . what I need . . . is to throw you down in this godforsaken mud and possess you in every way imaginable, and my imagination has been alarmingly active all day long."

He said other things too – words like "weak", "despicable" and "poor excuse for a husband", but I scarcely heard them. I could only gape at him, at the raw emotion in his face. Whatever I'd expected, it wasn't this.

With a gasp, I closed the distance between us, molding my body to his as I'd longed to do all day, whispering "yes, yes, please yes" into his open mouth.

His groan sent tremors racing through every cell in my body. Locking me to him, he propelled me backwards, deeper into the woods. Heedless, we slammed into trees, their trunks vibrating from the impact.

Smaller ones snapped and saplings bent double in the onslaught, as we slipped and slid over the mossy stones, never falling, never breaking the frenetic kiss that bound us as if we were intent on devouring each other.

My frantic fingers dug into his neck, his shoulders. If he'd been human, he would have been drenched in blood, and for the first time the full meaning of what we were washed over me. We could do anything we wanted to each other. No pain. No damage.

Something savage had been loosed in both of us, a primitive need that knew no human limitations and required no thought. There was no surrender in giving into it. Instead, an immense power seemed to rip through me, bent on one goal – total gratification of all the senses. I saw it reflected in Edward's darkened eyes – the hunger, as his fingers twisted into my hair.

This was the frenzy he'd talked about. Pure need and ecstatic sensation, unbridled lust – not for blood, but for each other. To anyone watching, it might have looked – and sounded – like a struggle to the death, but it was the opposite, a drive to ignite the life force in each other and be fused in the resulting flames.

Earth and sky changed places so many times, I lost all sense of direction. The only constant was Edward, and he was everywhere I'd ever longed for or needed him to be. Our guttural cries were lost in the general mayhem, yet somehow the broken words he whispered, which should have been swallowed up by the storm, rang crystal clear.

I never felt the pounding rain or the sharp branches whipping at my skin, yet his slightest touch shook me to the core. Flying, falling – none of it mattered. The only gravitational pull I answered to was his and that with a fierce, hot joy no storm could penetrate.

Time and order had gone the way of up and down so long ago that it was a while before it came to me that I was cradled in soft earth, that the thunder was receding with the last exquisite ripples gripping my body, that I was locked safely in my lover's arms as he murmured soft shushing sounds in my ear.

I couldn't move and didn't want to. It was enough to savor his weight pressed into me, his fingers stroking my temple in a soothing motion.

Hmm, I thought absently, I must have been making noise again, and now that Mother Nature had stopped her infernal racket someone with supernatural senses might actually hear me.

I was pretty sure there'd been a lot of sounds earlier – primal ones, masked by the thunder. By contrast, it was very quiet now with only a pattering drizzle to break the stillness.

I'd been surprised and embarrassed the first time I'd realized how vocal I could be in the midst of our lovemaking, but Edward had only smiled, saying, "I like your noises. They tell me you're paying attention."

Now he raised his head to look at me, the planes and shadows of his face breathtaking even in the darkness. "You're all right?" It was a question, but apparently the answer was written all over me, because his expression relaxed.

"Very." I answered, managing a smile, though I'd been pretty convinced none of my muscles would ever function again.

"Have I mentioned how much I love you?"

"I think it came up a time or two." My voice sounded raspy, but I struggled to put my dreamlike impressions into words before they drifted away. "Edward, the things you said – I think I _saw_ your voice, and I could _hear_ what your hands were saying when they touched me."

Now that I'd said it out loud, I expected him to laugh, but instead he brushed his lips gently back and forth across mine. "Good, because I believe I tasted your soul." He paused to kiss me slowly and thoroughly, before adding, "May I apologize now?"

"What? No, absolutely not! I'm not sure what that was, but it could be the most incredible thing I've ever experienced. I was so ready for that. It was like you'd been reading my mind all day – except for the part where you tried not to do it."

"You already have a number of reasons to hate me, which you've chosen to overlook. I didn't want to add a lack of self-discipline to the list."

"Oh, Edward." The knowledge that he could worry about something like that, even with this latest proof of how perfectly in tune we were with each other's needs, made my heart ache. I searched my mind for a way to shoo his entrenched pessimism back to the shadowy past where it belonged.

"As that renowned psychiatrist Rosalie Cullen could explain to you," I said, "it's called projection. You're the only one who judges you that harshly, nobody else, and I so the-opposite-of-hate every single wonderful thing about you, that I can't even tell you. Besides, if what I felt tonight was anything like the pleasure you would have gotten from drinking my blood, then I'm flabbergasted you didn't do it the first time we met."

"I considered it," he said with a wry twist of his lips. "It couldn't have come close, believe me. Over and over again, you amaze me. Your response . . . your . . ."

"Aggression?" I supplied. "Please, tell me that doesn't bother you. I was realizing today that when you were growing up nice women didn't act that way."

"When I was human, people weren't comfortable putting any of their emotions on display, not like they do today."

"Well, I can relate to that," I admitted. "Maybe that's what attracted you to me. I reminded you of girls you knew back then."

"If I start listing all the things that attracted me to you," he said gently, "I'll miss my flight tomorrow."

"I should be so lucky," I sighed. "Just so you don't think I'm a nymphomaniac or something."

He frowned in an effort to distract me from the smile he was fighting. "I think for that to be true, your desires might be directed less exclusively. But if it really concerns you, I'm sure Rosalie would be happy to discuss it in her mauve and gray office."

"You can shoot me first," I said, reaching up to nip his chin for emphasis.

"I'm apologizing anyway," he said before I could stop him. "I mean it, Bella. What sort of man can't wait two minutes to get the woman he loves into her clean, comfortable house?"

"The kind who can't read my mind but knows what I'm feeling anyway?" I guessed. "Did I mention I really, really liked it?"

"Your behavior seemed to indicate something of the kind. Still," he studied me a moment and shook his head. "Disgusting."

"And yet, you love me," I quipped, refusing to be drawn into his over-thinking.

"I didn't mean _you_ were disgusting. Do you realize you're lying in six inches of mud? Have you always harbored a secret longing for dreadlocks?" He lifted a strand of my hair. It was caked into something resembling a rope.

"Not really," I said. "Too Laurentish."

"Then you better let me get you home and into the shower."

"Just what we need – more water. And only if you plan to join me."

"I always finish what I start," he said, nuzzling my neck. "In this case, that includes washing your hair and soaping you extensively."

"That sounds really nice." I was still holding him to me, my hands roaming over his rain-slicked skin. "What ever happened to our clothes anyway?"

"You don't remember?" His head popped up. There was a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"I'm not sure. I was so busy feeling, I couldn't really think."

"Let's just say you have a very interesting way of getting at what you want when you're motivated."

"Oh." A belated wave of embarrassment swept through me and was gone, but Edward had spotted it.

"Don't," he said softly, kissing me again. "Don't be embarrassed. If it makes you feel any better, we'll both be picking denim out of our teeth for the foreseeable future."

I smothered an unladylike snort against his shoulder. "I can't believe – I mean, even our shoes are gone!"

"A lot of things seemed superfluous. I promise to come back before anyone's out and gather up the evidence."

"So how do we get back into the cottage? Your mom's there, don't forget."

"I'll think of something. Now seriously, I can't stand seeing what I've done to you. We're going." He started to pull away, but I held on tight.

"No, I want to stay like this, just like this, forever."

He sighed, collapsing back against me. "Tempting, but highly compromising when they come looking for us in the morning."

"Ugh, I hate it when you're right." Reluctantly, I released him and raised my head to look around the area. It looked like a meteor might have smashed into it – fallen branches, crushed ferns, the muddy ground gouged and flattened for yards around. Maybe the storm would get the blame, or a flying saucer.

"May I carry you?" he asked, after his first attempt to help me up had ended with both of us back in the puddle, trying to stifle our laughter.

I held on tight this time, and nodded, "It might be a good idea. I still feel a little dizzy."

"You feel like a greased pig," he corrected, gathering me up in his arms, and softening the gibe with a swift kiss.

I tightened my arms around his neck. "If that's your idea of a pick-up line, I won't worry about you alone in the big city."

"Not good?"

"Probably, the worst I've ever heard."

"And yet the most beautiful woman in the world is naked in my arms," he mused with a self-satisfied grin.

"It's the dazzle," I assured him. "You can't help it. And by the way, I'd thank you to squelch that particular talent while you're in New York."

He frowned. "Let me get this straight. No violence, dazzling or buying you expensive gifts. Is that it?"

"Unless I think of something else, yes."

"Who knew marriage would be so stifling? A list for a list. No stupid, no reckless, and no missing me."

"That's not fair," I protested. "I know I can't pull off number three, and I'm not entirely sure about one and two."

"Bella, you are in no position to provoke a spanking."

As usual, his timing was impeccable. Before I could retort to that one, he picked up speed to clear the river, and I had to hold on for dear life to keep my slippery self from sliding out of his equally slippery arms. He didn't slow till we reached the cottage, where he set me down at the wall that enclosed our little garden.

"We're going in this way?" I asked.

He nodded. "On the count of three."

We both backed up and leapt, dropping down outside our bedroom with a minimum of noise. It took less than a second for Edward to snap the lock on the glass doors, and we were inside.

"Now what?" I whispered.

"You stay here. I'll go talk to Esme."

In a flash, he'd put on a tee-shirt and jeans and headed for Renesmee's room. For the first time, I felt self-conscious about standing around naked and muddy, which was weird since there was nobody there to see me, but I retreated to the bathroom and turned on the shower.

When Edward joined me a few minutes later, the first of the mud was just sloshing down the drain.

"You started without me?"

"Not the good parts," I promised with a welcoming kiss. "Was Renesmee sleeping?"

"Very peacefully. I gave her a kiss for you."

"Thanks," I said, running my fingers through his hair to help the shower do its job. "What did Esme say? Did she wonder why you came in looking like that?"

"Esme is the soul of discretion. She didn't blink an eye."

Edward, on the other hand, was looking me over intently, and his expression was already reawakening every longing that had so recently been satisfied. I grabbed the bottle of shampoo, determined to get us both cleaned up before we got too distracted.

His hands went to my waist. My whole body tightened in response. "Why, Miss Swan," he murmured in that voice created for seduction, "you're beautiful without your mud."

"That's 'Cullen' to you," I corrected, already breathless, and dropped the shampoo.


	8. Mature

Chapter 8

Mature

The night that had roared in like a lion turned calm with only a few fleecy clouds traveling the black sky. I watched them pass over the skylight, tugging behind them a tiny slice of silver moon.

"I was thinking yesterday, when I was at Charlie's, how hard it must have been for you, spending most nights in my room." I turned my head to face him, only a whisper's length away on the pillow. "I needed you so badly, but it was selfish not realizing how stressful it was for you."

"Stressful? No, those were the most peaceful hours of my existence. Until now. Knowing you were safe, that I could protect you."

"When we were talking, maybe, but what about after I fell asleep? There was nothing then to distract you from the scent."

He smiled, smoothing the hair from my cheek. "Exactly. I could focus completely on learning to resist. It gave me hope for the future. Do you miss it, though, being able to sleep and to dream?"

I returned his smile. "Not when reality is so much better than anything I could have dreamed."

He lifted my hand, and we watched in silence as a glimmer of moonlight caught the interplay of our fingers. Strangely beautiful, when seen with the clarity of vampire eyes.

After a few moments, he brought my hand to his chest and pressed it there. I sighed with contentment, slow to retrieve the thread of my thoughts.

"Speaking of Charlie," I said finally, "He and Billy Black are taking a cabin at the lake. Sounds like a week-long house party with the Quileutes dropping by. He wants me to bring Renesmee for a visit."

"You should consider it – a change of scene, time with your father. If you can't be surrounded by vampires, friendly werewolves are a good alternative. The smell . . . well, that's another story."

"I'm thinking about it. The trouble is there's no cell phone reception up there. I couldn't talk to you."

"The less time I spend on the phone, the sooner I'll be finished and back home."

"Well, at least promise you'll call to let me know you've landed safely."

He grinned. "I think you over-estimate the damage a plane crash could do to someone like me, but if it makes you feel better, I promise."

"Thanks. Oh, and I think I've solved another mystery!"

"Tell me," he said, looking as if my speculations were the most fascinating subject in the world. "Or do we have to wait till all the suspects are gathered together?"

"You laugh, but that's exactly the point. Did you ever see an old movie called _Murder on the Orient Express_?"

"I saw the '70s version. Was there one before that?"

"That's the one I mean," I said, noting the confusion in his expression. "Come on, Edward. That's practically an entire generation before I was born, so it's old to me."

"Which makes me decrepit."

"Yeah, right," I answered, unable to squelch a giggle. It was pretty much the last word I'd ever use to describe my untiring Adonis of a lover. "Did I ever tell you how glad I am you changed me? Immortality is totally awesome."

"Good to know you haven't changed your mind," he said dryly. "I'm sorry I interrupted. Please, go on."

"Remember, there's a whole trainload of suspects? Every one of them has a motive to do away with the victim, who's a horrible excuse for a human being. The detective – Hercule Poirot – gathers them all together and reveals they're all guilty. All of them took part in the murder. That would explain what's happening with the doll furniture, because different Cullens were around when different pieces were found."

I looked at him, expecting to see approval, and it was there in his face, but so was something else that slid past so quickly I almost missed it. "You already knew that, didn't you?" I said, frowning in accusation. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you were having such a good time figuring it out. How could I not know, love? If they aren't thinking about where to hide something, they're wondering if Nessie has found it yet or whether she liked it. I can't keep my whole family out of my head all the time, no matter how often I wish I could."

"So I'm right?"

"Yes. I suspect there's one mastermind at work ordering appropriate pieces and letting the rest of the family share in the pleasure of giving them to her."

"Alice," I guessed.

"The prime suspect."

"Well, it's a really cool thing to do. Renesmee's so excited every time a new piece turns up." I turned to look at him. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. It's only that just once I'd like to know something before you do."

"Bella," he said," bringing his forehead to rest against mine. "Don't you realize you've always known the important things before I did?"

"Like what?"

He pulled back to fasten me with such an earnest look that I found myself getting lost in his eyes again. "You knew our baby was worth fighting for when I couldn't see past losing you. Do you know what could have happened if you hadn't fought me?"

"But it didn't," I said anxious to quell the guilt in his voice. I brought my hands to his face, stroking gently. "You were scared, and I just . . . I just knew it would be all right."

"That's not the only time," he said softly. "You knew I loved you before I did."

"What makes you say that?"

"You kept insisting I wouldn't hurt you, when I was terrified I would. It never occurred to me that anything could be stronger than the blood lust, but you knew."

Sometimes, when he looks at me that way, like I'm something incredibly rare and valuable, I just feel like crying. Of course, I can't. The only other way I know to express such overwhelming emotion is by making love.

I lifted my head to kiss him tenderly, and as always the sweetness of his mouth undid me every bit as thoroughly as the first time I tasted him. We didn't talk anymore for a long time.

When the actual time of parting came, we made it quick – like ripping off a Band-Aid. Some swiftly whispered words, a quick kiss and he vanished. I stood at the cottage door watching the forest settle into place as if a gust of wind had ripped through it.

Now, my job was to be a big girl and not make a huge issue out of something as ordinary as a business trip. That meant not sitting around thinking about my favorite subject, for starters.

I spent the morning with Renesmee in a buzz of activity, and around noon we headed up to the big house for lunch.

Esme was busy in the kitchen, preparing some of the fruits and veggies I'd bought yesterday. "How are you holding up?" she asked when we came in.

I knew exactly what she meant. Did everyone think I was such a clinging vine, I'd fall apart the minute Edward left? "I'm fine," I said. "It's not a big deal."

"Of course, it's a big deal," she disagreed. "You're a newlywed. It's always hard the first time you have to be parted."

"For you too?" I asked.

"Oh, my, yes. The first time Carlisle had to leave me I was a wreck, so scared something would happen and he wouldn't come back. That's the way it is when you're afraid your happiness is too good to be true, but after you've been through it a few times, your perspective changes. You still don't enjoy being separated, but those silly fears disappear."

"You're always so good at making me feel better," I said.

"It's just that I've been there." She smiled and placed her latest offering in front of Renesmee who dug in without protest. "I was thinking – remember the other day you were talking about Nessie needing new shoes? What if the three of us did some shopping this afternoon in Port Angeles?"

Just what the doctor ordered – a major distraction. "Sure," I said, "that would be great. I don't mind getting most of her clothes online, but she really should be fitted for her shoes."

"Good, we'll go right after she's finished. I know we're interfering with her naptime, but small children have no trouble falling asleep in cars."

Most small children maybe. As it turned out, Renesmee was so excited that she not only stayed awake, she was uncharacteristically vocal. We ended up singing children's songs all the way to Port Angeles with Esme teaching us a couple I'd never heard before in a beautiful soprano.

We were halfway there when my cell phone rang. I snatched it from my pocket like it was on fire. "You're there?" I answered it.

"I am, and amazingly the other passengers arrived safely as well."

I could hear his smile from thousands of miles away. It was nearly enough to reanimate my frozen heart. "Esme's taking us shopping."

"I'm sorry she's being so cruel to you. I promise to rescue you as soon as I can."

Renesmee had to say hello, and after a few hurried I love yous, he was gone again.

"See? Not so bad," Esme said and broke into a chorus of _Five Little Monkeys_, much to my daughter's delight.

The weather in Port Angeles was perfect. That is to say, as cloudy as it could be without actually raining on us. I was sure my hasty attempt to mimic Alice and Rosalie's makeovers – quick dustings of powder to dull my skin and hair – would be sufficient to throw off anyone on the rare chance we encountered a human I'd known before. I drew the line at the contact lenses. Easier to just cross the street if anybody familiar came along.

No one did, of course. Renesmee hardly said a word, but I could see the excitement in her eyes, as she took in all the people and, what must seem to her, busy streets of the largest town she'd seen to date.

Dogs on leashes intrigued her. After she'd let go of my hand to throw her arms around a malamute the size of a Hyundai, I cautioned her about always asking before you touch a strange animal.

"Phase?" She said curiously.

"No, these are just regular dogs. Only Jacob and his friends phase."

"A secret," she crowed, brown eyes sparkling.

"She's really into this secret thing," I murmured to Esme, while my daughter was distracted by a girl on roller skates. "I get the feeling once she hits her teens, I'll never know what's going on with her."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Esme said. "She won't be able to keep a single thing from Edward."

"That's true," I laughed. "I don't know which of them to feel sorry for."

We succeeded in getting her several pairs of shoes, some more practical than others, and a few a size or two larger just to be prepared. Esme played the grandparent card and insisted on buying her a ruffled dress that I could see no use for, but Renesmee was tickled pink.

I let her choose some more practical clothes, which seemed to take the sting out of their lack of designer details, and she was still raring to go, so we took our purchases back to the car and continued to explore the town, such as it was.

Every mundane shop window caught her eye. She was fascinated with babies in strollers, people smoking, a truck with giant wheels. We went down to the harbor and watched the ferries come in from Victoria, while Renesmee practically vibrated with excitement.

"Who knew Port Angeles could be so exciting?" I said to Esme.

"To a little girl who's been so sheltered it must seem like Disneyland," she agreed. "Minus the long lines."

Somehow we finally managed to exhaust the charms of Port Angeles and returned to the car. Once inside, Renesmee became talkative again.

Were those boats really run by fairies? Why weren't traffic lights purple? Twice women had stopped her on the street to tell her how pretty her hair was. Did ladies do that to daddy, too, because his hair was the same color?

"I certainly hope not!" I said.

"Cause it's not good to talk to strangers." Renesmee added, nodding.

"Yes, I'm sure your daddy knows better, sweetie." Esme shot a sideways grin at me.

By the time we reached the Cullens' drive she was nodding in her car seat, and when I removed her from it a few minutes later she was fast asleep.

"Poor baby," Esme said. "It's awfully late for a nap. I wouldn't be surprised if she sleeps right through the night."

"Probably," I agreed.

She didn't even open her eyes, when I undressed her and slipped a nightie over her head or when I tucked her in and kissed her rosy cheeks. It had been a big day for my little girl and one of the few shopping trips I'd ever actually enjoyed.

Alice was waiting when I came out of her room. "I wish I'd thought to give you my package to drop off at the post office while you were out."

"Is it important?"

"Not really. Just that extra piece they sent for the enlarger."

"Well, give it to me. I'll run it over there."

"You don't have to do that, sweetie," she said, putting her arm around me. "You just got home."

"And guess what? I'm not tired. Vampire here, remember? Renesmee's asleep, and I need to keep busy. Besides, I'm already disguised for the humans."

"Only the visually impaired ones," she said, eyeing my makeup job critically. "Come with me then."

Fifteen minutes of fussing and one pair of dreaded contacts later, I was good to go. I handed her my wedding ring to put with the other. "This got me into trouble too," I sighed.

"Well, prepare for the ultimate test," Alice warned, "because Mrs. Stanley is definitely minding the store."

"Thanks for the heads-up. I'm having a very mature day here, Alice, so I'm ready for anything."

Of course, I was secretly hoping that Jessica's mom would decide to take a break by the time I got there, but no such luck. When I stepped into the post office, she snapped to attention like she had some kind of gossip radar, greeting me effusively.

"Bella, it's been ages! How are you, dear?"

"I'm great, Mrs. Stanley. It's nice to see you."

There was no one else in the room, which was a plus. I laid Alice's package on the counter and hoped for a quick transaction.

"I never got a chance to congratulate you on the wedding. Jessica said it was absolutely breath-taking. And don't worry; I understand you wanted to keep the whole thing just among close friends, so my lips are sealed. Just a shame there are people who'd assume no one gets married that young unless they have to.

"Why, I told that nosy Shirley Atkins just to look at your trim little figure. You couldn't hide a pregnancy if you wanted to! Of course, by this time it's obvious the gossips were wrong, but I think you're very wise to keep your privacy, what with the way so many people feel about the Cullens."

As much as I wanted her to stop talking, I couldn't let that last remark pass. "What do you mean – how do they feel?"

"Well, you know, just that they don't fit in. The kids pairing off like they seem to when they've been raised as siblings. The way they keep to themselves, and they never seem to age. Someone suggested that Dr. Carlisle's actually a gifted plastic surgeon who secretly keeps the entire clan looking youthful and gorgeous.

"Of course, I don't hold with gossip. Clearly, the Cullens are very well off – I mean all you have to do is look at those cars they all drive. I can certainly see why you'd snag one while you had the chance."

There were so many things wrong with that statement that I wasn't even tempted to answer her. Should I be flattered that she approved of my marrying for money or curious as to how Carlisle managed to do plastic surgery on himself?

"Uh . . . I'd like that to go priority mail," I said, looking at the package that still lay untouched on the counter.

"Of course, honey." She finally picked it up and put it on the scale. "Now that you've landed your very own Cullen, I'll tell you a little secret. There was a time – back before you came to Forks – when your Edward had a thing for Jessica. She said he 'put the moves on her' so to speak, but she was never really interested – not her type, so it's nice you came along."

I was in serious danger of choking, as I fought to keep my expression neutral. I wondered what kept him from being her type – his wealth or his gorgeousness. Then there was the fact that he wouldn't give her the time of day – that might have made a love connection awkward.

"How . . . how is Jessica?" I managed to get out.

It got her off the subject but did nothing toward getting the job done. She stood ignoring the reading on the scale while she went on about Jesse's college life, which according to her consisted of half the men on campus begging for her attention. "But I think she still has a soft spot for Mike Newton. She could do worse. That store of theirs has done very well."

"How much do I owe you?" I asked, pushing to complete what had become a downright painful process.

"That will be $14.35." As I took out my wallet, she looked at my hand. "Oh, my, dear, no wedding ring? I do hope nothing's gone wrong."

Sure enough. Now I was in trouble for wearing no ring at all.

"You know, Mrs. Stanley," I said in a conspiratorial whisper. "You're right about me liking to keep my privacy. That's why I don't wear my rings in town – so people who don't know I'm married won't start gossiping about it. I just like to keep it between us and a few trusted friends. You understand."

"Oh, you can count on me, Bella," she gushed. "I hate gossip just as much as the next person."

Chances were "the next person" was Nora in the candle shop, I thought, as I flashed what I hoped was a trusting smile and made my escape.

Well, that went even worse than expected, but I was pretty sure I'd salvaged it in the end. My day as a mature person was going quite well. I'd even pulled off a convincing lie. My family would be so proud – the new one, that is.

And I did have a wicked new way to tease Edward. I couldn't wait to see his expression when I accused him of pursuing Jessica. He was always polite to her and perfectly pleasant, but she was the only one of my friends he didn't pretend to like, mainly because he was all too familiar with her thought processes.

Had that been Mrs. Stanley's interpretation of the matter or had Jesse felt she needed an excuse for not "landing" a Cullen? Poor Jesse. She obviously had her shortcomings, but I could see how they might have been encouraged.

Since I was here anyway, I continued up a few blocks to the hardware store. I scored some new leather work gloves for Charlie and a pleasant greeting from the manager who could now attest to the fact that I was alive and well. When I came out, I recognized a waitress from the diner just going in to the Fern Gallery, so I followed and looked around just long enough to exchange surprised "hellos."

That ought to do it, I thought, as I turned away from the streets and angled into the forest at the earliest opportunity. No need to hurry when Renesmee was undoubtedly asleep and Edward . . . I tried not to think of the thousands of miles separating us. For someone who could barely stand it when he was across the room, having an entire country between us was not an easy pill to swallow.

Only two more days, I told myself. You've done fine so far. He's got important stuff to do, and everything's not about you. Suck it up and remember you're not the center of the universe – he just makes you feel like you are.

The quiet was nice after the manmade noise in town, just a muted whooshing and tiny rustling sounds in the leaves. And miraculously there was brilliant sunlight filtering through the branches, casting golden coins along the path in front of me.

For the first time today, I let my thoughts go directly where they wanted to – straight to Edward and memories of last night, his expression just before he kissed me. His face was so clear in my mind, more real than my surroundings and much more beautiful.

The temptation to replay the entire evening was almost overwhelming. So I didn't have a photographic memory. I was pretty sure my body had recorded every scintillating moment even after my brain had turned to mush. But thinking about that would only make me miss him and that would break one of the half-serious rules on my not-to-do list.

I'd think about something else. Maybe queen and country. That made me laugh out loud and from there I started humming _We Are The Champions_, which seemed to fit my mood. Edward would be pleased if he could see me striding confidently through the trees, happy enough to be singing to myself.

It was the odor that brought me to an abrupt halt.

Cloying and totally out of place in the forest. I'd smelled something like it before, but couldn't think of where. No, Edward would _not_ be happy with my performance. I'd just blown the other two rules on my list by forgetting to be vigilant and aware of my surroundings.

Stupid and reckless.

I focused and stopped breathing, quietly edging forward until I could see the clearing just ahead. There was someone there, a lone human in a down jacket and knapsack sitting on a boulder, a map spread across his knees. The tension in my body eased, but I reminded myself to remain cautious.

As I stepped out from the trees, he stood up, startled. "Hello . . . oh, hey, it's you. Isabella, right? Remember me?"

I did remember him – the guy who'd spoken to me at the DMV. He was obviously the source of the cheap cologne smell that had nearly overwhelmed me in that enclosed space and still smelled yucky in the open air. I'd thought he looked like a cherub.

Even in daylight his freckled, childlike face didn't ring any bells beyond that first impression. "Yes and no," I answered. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm trying to follow this map," he said with a tentative smile. "I'm wondering if it's out of date, because there's supposed to be a trail on the east side that doesn't seem to be there."

He held the map out toward me as if inviting my assistance, but I kept my distance. Better to make up for my earlier carelessness with an excess of caution no matter how non-threatening the situation.

"It's there," I said, pointing to my right.

"That's east? Oh, damn, I'm all turned around. This is the first time I've tried to do anything like this on my own."

"Anything like what?"

"Hiking, exploring."

"That's not a good idea without a partner. Hikers do get lost in these woods." I didn't add that it seldom happened within a mile of the main highway.

"Well, I need to get the hang of it, because it's kind of part of my job now." As he spoke, he rose, taking a step toward me.

"Stop right there," I said, and he did.

Cool. Vamp aura working right through my makeup job. He looked suddenly fearful, which was funny because closer up he was taller than I'd first thought. Human-wise it didn't look like he had any reason at all to be intimidated by me.

"You recognized me at motor vehicles the other day, but you didn't know that I prefer to be called Bella?"

"You do?" He looked mortified. "I'm so sorry, I got confused. Isabella, Bella, it's all the same isn't it? Well, no, of course it isn't. I actually don't like it when people shorten my Christian name, but everybody's different, aren't they?"

And I thought my social skills were underdeveloped. This guy was awfully flustered about something.

"How do we know each other?"

"We don't. Not really."

"Excuse me?" I said, tensing again, on high alert.

He leaned away, throwing his hands up in a defensive gesture. "Let me explain. I'm not going to harm you, honest."

_Well, you've got that much right_, I thought with some amusement. He was a very ordinary human, out of shape and anxious. I was a newborn vampire who could flatten him like a bug even if he was hiding a bazooka in that silly, poufy jacket.

"Is it all right if I sit down?" He stumbled a few steps backward, groping his way toward the boulder. "I'm a little nervous."

I didn't answer. He removed his back-pack and sank down on the mossy stone, clasping his hands convulsively between his knees. His eyes darted around the clearing for a moment, and when he spoke it made no sense at all.

"Do you know what a pteridologist is, Bella? No, of course, there's no reason why you should. It's not very interesting to most people, but it's the study of Polypodiophyta – ferns." He gestured at the thick foliage beneath the trees. "That's why I'm here. This area is one of the richest places on the continent for my research."

Well, that explained exactly nothing. "Do I look like a fern to you, Mr. . . .?"

"What? Oh, sorry, I'm Donald Ramey. Just down from British Columbia. That's where I thought I knew you – at UNBC, but I see now I was mistaken."

Perched on the boulder, he looked like nothing so much as an oversized garden gnome. There was nothing overtly threatening in this scenario, and yet I kept a healthy skepticism, something I needed to do with all living beings from now on.

I shifted my weight in a belated effort to break my stillness, to maintain a human façade. "Am I supposed to believe that this person you knew up there who looked like me also happened to have the same name?"

"Oh, that." He blinked sheepishly. "To tell you the truth, I couldn't remember her name, but when I first noticed you outside the DMV, you were talking to a woman. She called you by name, so I just went with it."

"Well, now that we've established you don't know me, we have to stop meeting like this, okay?"

"It was just a coincidence," he insisted. "I can't say I'm sorry though. You don't know what it's like coming to a strange place where you don't know a soul. I haven't had an actual conversation in two weeks."

"The forest isn't the best place to find one," I said, and then wondered if I wasn't just being mean. I did know what it was like to be among strangers.

The difference was I hadn't really cared if they talked to me or not.

"You could sit down and talk to me for just a minute." He indicated the boulder next to him. "How's that going to hurt anything?"

How indeed? Was I being cautious or just plain rude? "I don't know a lot about ferns," I said, "and I do have things to take care of."

"No, not about ferns. Maybe you could give me a few tips – the best hiking trails, a decent camping store. I'm going to need a lot more gear before I really do this right," he said, indicating the backpack at his feet. It appeared almost empty. "I should probably plan on catching my own fish. Know any good spots? Maybe you could show me on the map . . . please?"

It was that last word that did it. He was doing his best to sound plaintive, but there was a note almost of desperation in that "please." It made me uneasy. "Try the chamber of commerce in Forks, Mr. Ramey. I'm sure they'd be happy to answer all your questions."

He must have sensed I was done here, because his speech became more rapid. "Okay, I get it. You don't feel comfortable talking to strangers in the woods. Why not let me take you out to dinner? You name the place. I can meet you there, if it makes you feel better."

It didn't.

I'd been right to trust my first instinct. Was this guy seriously hitting on me? I didn't have to wonder long.

He jumped up from the boulder, clearly agitated. "All right, I admit it. At first I thought you were the girl from BC, but now that I've had a good look at you, I can see that you're much prettier – beautiful even. I'd never forgive myself if I let the opportunity to get to know you pass me by. No funny business, I swear. I just want to spend a little time with you, a good meal–"

"Enjoy your ferns," I shot over my shoulder, already moving back down the trail.

I felt a little like Alice in Wonderland, stumbling on some bizarre creature in the forest. Except that Alice's encounters were quirky and endearing, not tedious and punctuated with bad pickup lines. About 20 yards from the clearing, I got ready to drop the human charade and leap into the trees.

"I know what you are, Bella."

The words froze me in midstride, even as I registered that the voice had lost its tentative edge. It was strong, confident and unmistakably threatening. I hesitated, my newly expanded mind flooding with alarms and possibilities. I wanted nothing so much as to take off, speed away from this place as quickly as possible, putting the vague looming danger far behind me.

Nothing had prepared me for this.

I'd never even considered the possibility that someone might guess the truth beyond those I cared for, beyond Charlie and Renee, people who wished us well. I told myself I was probably over-reacting, reading my own interpretation into something I had yet to understand. But I couldn't take any chances. I had to be sure what was really going on here, not just for me but for everyone I loved.

I walked slowly back to the clearing, using the time to master the instinct that urged me to attack. In a confrontation, Edward was always supremely focused, everything he said curt and to the point. I had to try and stay like that. It would be foolish to give anything away, when I was the one needing information. I only hoped my carefully composed expression would stay in place.

"What is that supposed to mean?" I said evenly. He was still standing, not fidgety now. I planted myself right in front of him.

"What do you think it means?" He stared at me intently, as if searching for the reaction I'd refused to give him.

"I'm guessing that I'm a tease, that somehow I gave you the wrong impression by speaking to you at all."

"If only it was that easy. It could have been, if you'd just agreed to spend a little time with me in casual conversation – that's all I asked, and now look what it's come to."

"What has it come to? Explain it to me."

He smirked. "Someone's done a very good job of camouflaging you – the makeup, the contacts. Good enough to fool the average person, but then it's hardly necessary when you get right down to it. People are their own worst enemies, determined to see only what they want to see even when it could mean their own grisly death. That's why men like me are so necessary."

"And what are you, exactly?" I said, careful to keep the steel in my voice.

"Well, I could give you the obvious answer, but it always comes off a little melodramatic for my taste. I prefer what I said before – that I study things. It's just that there are species which I find much more intriguing than plants. And especially – especially when there's an anomaly in that species, something that's never been researched before.

"Are you following me here, Bella? Yes, of course, you are. Smart. Smart and uncommonly beautiful. I only wish . . ."

Both hands had been buried in his pockets, but he pulled one out now, slowly extending it toward my face.

"Do not touch me," I hissed.

He hesitated and a new emotion crossed his face, something I didn't understand. "It's so unfair," he whispered. "And you're far more – "

He stopped abruptly, thrusting his hand back in his pocket. When he spoke, it was in a normal tone again. "No, of course, I'm not going to touch you. I meant what I said; I have no intention of hurting you, Bella. In fact, after our meeting you may actually be better off – by far, just one man's opinion, of course."

"You haven't told me what you want." I couldn't leave, couldn't even move until I found out everything he knew, everything that could endanger my perfect world. I just stood staring into his baby-blue eyes, wishing I had Edward's gift for seeing further.

"What does anybody want?" he answered glibly. "Fame and fortune, a chance to make the world a better place. I'm sure you can appreciate that when I heard of this anomaly, this idea that several of your species were living together – harmoniously, I saw the chance to outshine everyone in my rather esoteric field.

"Nothing in the research has indicated such a thing was possible. If I were to bring that to light, you can see how my reputation would be made among my colleagues, and who knows what accolades I'd garner from a grateful world. Maybe a Nobel Prize? But which one – physiology perhaps or the peace prize? Either would be appropriate."

As he'd been speaking, my mind had raced to catalogue the options. The first and most obvious was to simply kill Mr. Donald Ramey. I wanted to. In fact, it was requiring enormous control not to do it. There was not a shred of doubt in my mind that I could, and it had nothing to do with blood lust.

I could eliminate this threat to those I loved and never spend a moment of eternity regretting it. But clearly he knew more than any human should. What wasn't clear was who else might share that knowledge.

He chuckled, speaking as if he'd read my mind. "You know, I'm not stupid either, Bella. I know that you could rip my throat out where I stand, but you haven't done that. I can only think that's because you know I never would have dared to confront you without a backup plan. Everything I know about you and the Cullens has been safely documented. Do away with me and you open the door to your own destruction. And believe me, that door would never be closed again."

"So much for your fame and fortune," I said flatly.

"Fortune, yes, but the fame thing – that would be guaranteed whether or not I survived.. Once I'd forced the world to acknowledge your existence, everyone of your kind would be hunted down in a matter of weeks. Dead or alive, I'd be a hero for the ages."

That was his contingency plan, I reminded myself, trying desperately not to let the panic show in my face. There was something else he wanted more, but I couldn't imagine what it might be. Whatever it was, I'd have to find a way to see that he got it, because there was no way to keep anyone safe, if he actually exposed us – to the media, the internet – his story would be around the world in a matter of minutes, and I couldn't afford to doubt that he had the evidence to back it up.

My eyes were still locked on his, refusing to blink. I'd never done this for so long. It was making me feel light-headed. But I was a Cullen, dammit, and we knew how to hold our prey with a stare. Here was proof, right in front of me. He could talk all he wanted, but so far he hadn't been able to look away.

All the power of my new mind was concentrating on two things – not allowing my fear to show and not dropping my gaze. There didn't seem to be any energy left for marshalling my thoughts. They whirled around in my head like birds with no place to light. I needed to think, to prepare for whatever he was going to request.

"What do you want?" I said again.

"Only what I told you," he said with every appearance of sincerity. "To have a conversation, and we've been doing that. It hasn't been so bad, has it? The truth is all those threats were just a way to grab your attention. I've dreamed about talking face to face with one of you for years now, but it never seemed possible, not without me ending up dead.

"Then I heard about the Cullens and how they only drink animal blood, how they coexist with humans, and I saw a chance to have my wish come true. You thought I was some kind of vigilante, right? Like I hunt down vampires and destroy them." He gave me a rueful smile, spreading his arms out helplessly at his sides. "Look at me, Bella. Do I really look like a killer to you?"

At the moment, he looked like the kewpie dolls I'd seen in local antique shops, chubby and all wide-eyed innocence. He'd given off other vibes in this strange encounter, but I couldn't seem to line them up for comparison. Which side of him was real – any of them?

"It doesn't mean you're not an extortionist. You've gone from pretending to know me to acting like this is all a big coincidence to threatening the people I love. Now I'm supposed to believe you just like to chat?"

"I know. I apologize. The truth is I'm not very good with women. I kind of throw everything out there to see what sticks. I didn't want to lose my one chance to get up close and personal with one of you, to see if you'd talk like regular people or too fast for humans to understand – whatever. It's been an amazing thrill for me."

"And that's all you wanted?" It couldn't be that simple.

"I'm a researcher, Bella, pure and simple, and sure I'd like to have my work taken seriously, but it never will be outside of a small group of people that everyone else labels 'kooks'. Because to expose its existence would destroy the very thing that intrigues us.

"There's a special thrill in knowing something very few people do. It's enough for geeks like me, and right now all I can think of is how . . ." He struggled for words, his round face almost comical with the effort. "How cool this all is!

"It's like a zoologist coming upon a giant panda. He wouldn't shoot it, for God's sake. He'd be completely in awe of getting close to this thing that's fascinated him all his life. Not that you look like a panda," he added, "But you understand what I mean."

His pupils were tiny, like pins boring into mine trying to convey what? The truth? An apology? I felt as though a vortex was whirling around in my brain, scattering white downy feathers, all that was left of the little birds.

The light-headedness – it was making it hard to think. If I could just take a breath, it would help, but I really couldn't handle that aftershave.

"I swear to you. All that threatening was empty rhetoric. You know what my favorite movie was when I was a kid? _E.T._ That should tell you something. I'd rather be the one privileged to keep the alien's secret than share it with the world."

My expression didn't change, and after a moment, he blinked a few times and pulled his gaze from mine. Without another word he walked to the boulder and picked up his knapsack, slinging it over his shoulder.

Turning to look at me, he called back, "You don't have to worry, you know. This will be the end of it." One side of his mouth twisted up. "And thanks for the memories, Bella."

I watched him go feeling neither anger nor relief, waiting until he'd disappeared into the trees before drawing a long clean breath.

Wow, I felt like I'd just gotten off a roller coaster and everything was still rattling around loose inside me. But it was all right now.

I hadn't backed down, and I hadn't let him go until I'd found out what I wanted. A lot of what he'd said were lies, but for some reason I believed the most important part – that he wasn't going to reveal our secret, and that was all that counted.

The sun was still managing to dodge the clouds. My newly sensitive vampire eyes weren't used to so much of it, and it was making me dizzy. I closed them and tilted my head back to enjoy the rare warmth on my skin. The red behind my lids was uncomplicated, soothing, unlike the surge of scarlet that accompanied the urge to kill.

It was nice, not thinking at all, just concentrating on the sounds of nature and the fresh earthy smell of the forest. And nice to stand perfectly still without the need to shift or fidget, a whole new way of relaxing.

That had been one of my first lessons as a newborn. Though our bodies didn't tire, our minds could benefit from a break in the constant onslaught of vivid sensations and thoughts. It was good now and then to put all that aside and fix on something simple and restful, like the birds that had begun singing again.

Had they actually stopped before or was I just so focused that I'd failed to notice them?

When I opened my eyes, the scenery had softened, all the sharp edges of leaves and rocks and branches smudged and indistinct, their colors muted to a ghostly image of themselves, as if the entire landscape had been drawn in charcoal. Dusk already. Time to get back.

Some people found this time of day depressing, but I didn't. I'd never dreaded the coming night. It had always seemed gentler to me than daylight, but maybe that was because I'd been raised in Phoenix. Nobody could accuse the sunlight in Forks of overstaying its welcome.

I turned toward home, taking my time, noticing how the birdsong changed as the night shift came on. The mist was back again and starting to meld into actual raindrops which wouldn't do my makeup any good, but it had already served its purpose.

At the front door, I retrieved the key from its hiding place and stepped into silence.


	9. Glitch

Chapter 9

Glitch

Of course, I reminded myself, no one else was home.

I stood there for a moment uncertain of what I'd been planning to do. The anxiety of that crazy encounter in the woods had jumbled my ideas like puzzle pieces spilled from a box, piled willy-nilly on top of each other in no particular order.

The moment stretched on. I tried to grasp one thought, hoping to connect it to others, but they were all slippery as fish.

Yes, that was it. In the absence of the little birds, my mind had turned into a kind of aquarium where segments of reality swam in and out of the shadows. I closed my eyes and concentrated, imagining that a goldfish shone in the darkness. Pretty run-of-the-mill aquarium, my head seemed to be.

Things looked up a bit when a bizarre-looking creature that looked like a porcupine made an appearance. A puffer fish? Maybe. And why was I bothering with this exercise? Things weren't getting any clearer. There had to be some practical reason for my muddle-headedness.

An actual coherent idea formed in my brain, and I hurried to the bathroom, flipping on the light as I entered. My face in the mirror didn't look particularly ditzy. I leaned forward and carefully maneuvered one, and then the other brown contact out of my eyes. How long had I had them in there? A lot longer than I usually wore them.

I remembered how my eyes had bothered me earlier. Bad eyesight could give you headaches and make you woozy. Maybe these things, that were made for humans, irritated vampire eyes, screwed up our perceptions somehow and caused confusion. I flushed them down the toilet and turned back to the sink.

The whole human look really had to go. I scrubbed off the remaining makeup, hoping the hot water would sharpen me up a little, dried my face, fluffed out my hair and waited to feel normal again.

I waited a long time, but the fog didn't lift. There was darkness now outside the bathroom window. I sighed and turned off the light, drifting toward my room.

It looked pretty much the same as always, maybe a little less cluttered. Last year's school books were still stacked under the desk. I smiled to myself and walked to the window. Very gingerly, I picked up the little terra-cotta pot containing the only friend who had made it here from Phoenix.

"This has been very hard on you, hasn't it?" I whispered, stroking the needles with my finger. It didn't hurt at all. I carried it into the bathroom where I let a little water drip into the pot. "You're looking all puckered up. I'll see what I can do about getting you a special light, so you don't miss the sun."

I set the cactus carefully back down on the window sill and looked out at the empty road. Everything gleamed dark and wet in the street light. It seemed very lonely. I turned to the closet. I had the feeling I hadn't taken inventory for a while, but there was very little in it. Just a skirt I never wore and a hideous dress that Renee had sent me one birthday, so girly-girl I would have been embarrassed to go to the mailbox in it.

Everything else couldn't be in the wash. I was still trying to remember what I'd done with my clothes when a roar broke the stillness. It got louder and louder, ending in a screech outside the front of the house. Seconds later there was a pounding at the door.

I went to the window, holding back the lace curtain and craning my neck to see what was in the driveway. Whatever it might be was too close to the house to see from here, which was odd because it had sounded like it was the size of a train engine.

I let the curtain fall and hurried down the stairs, reminding myself there was nothing to be afraid of. I was seriously capable of taking on whatever might await me there.

Automatically, I looked up as I swung the door open, but my visitor was no taller than me. Her black hair stood out in a forest of spikes. She was beautiful, but the look of alarm on her face was unsettling.

"What's wrong?" she demanded without preamble.

"Wrong?" I thought about that. Was there something wrong? I couldn't be certain, but the spiky hair suddenly fell into place for me. "You're the blowfish," I said, pleased to make sense of something, anything.

Her look of alarm only intensified. "Bella, what's the matter with you? What are you doing here?"

I didn't answer. I was busy snatching at the tiny fragments in my mind that seemed to belong with her image. There was a warm sensation, a feeling of familiarity that clicked together, and a moment later they were joined by another piece, an important one. "Alice," I said.

She pushed her way past me, closing the door behind her. "Are you alone?"

"Of course. Charlie's gone on a fishing trip, remember?" In fact, _I_ hadn't remembered until the words popped into my head, but as soon as they did I knew it was true.

"We were expecting you – hours ago. You didn't call. We were all really worried about you."

I frowned. "You were expecting me where?"

"At the house, of course. Emmett checked the cottage but you weren't there either. Why on earth did you come here?"

Her obvious anxiety confused me. I didn't want to be the cause of it, but I couldn't put my finger on what I'd done wrong. "I'm sorry," I said. "I guess I forgot I was supposed to be there. Would you like to sit down or something?"

"No," she said emphatically, "but I want you to. She practically pushed me toward the living room and into Charlie's recliner, apparently so she could loom over me. "Are you hurt? What happened to you today after you left our place?"

Her interrogation was making me uncomfortable. I could see that she was genuinely concerned about . . . something, but how could I answer her questions when my thoughts refused to settle into any kind of order?

"Nothing, "I said finally. "I didn't get hurt. How could that even happen anyway? I've just been feeling a little light-headed. I don't know – disoriented. Can you get sunstroke if you're used to nothing but rain? It's actually getting better." I managed a reassuring smile.

That seemed to calm her. "Good. That's good. I'm sure it's nothing serious, but it would help if we knew what brought it on. You can't think of anything unusual that happened to you today? You didn't attack anyone? Nobody attacked you?"

I had to laugh. "I went to Forks, Alice. It's not exactly the most exciting place on earth – or the most dangerous."

She smiled back, relaxing a little. "Well, that's true enough. Obviously you didn't eat or drink anything."

I shook my head.

"And that man you met in the forest, who was that?"

"Just a tourist," I said with a shrug. "I suspect I was already feeling funny at that point, because I don't remember much of what he said. I think he asked me about hiking and . . . and good places to fish. That makes it short-term memory loss, doesn't it? I'm not sure what that means, but I forgot I was supposed to go to your house, and I remember the phrase 'short-term memory loss,' probably from some old Lifetime movie. That's not as bad as going completely crazy, is it?"

"Oh, Bella, you're not crazy." She swooped down, giving me a fierce hug. "You do seem more with it already. You really do."

I wasn't sure she was right, but I was pleased to see the worry in her face lessening.

"I guess it could have been too much sun." She frowned, thinking back. "I was in the dark so long after I was changed. I really can't remember if it affected me like that or not. Have you felt this way before?"

"Not that I can recall, but I really haven't spent that much time outside on sunny days. This is probably the longest."

Alice nodded. "And every newborn's different."

"It was either that or the stupid contacts. They were really bugging me. I finally took them out."

Now she looked distressed again. "Oh, sweetie, that's my fault. I ordered those specifically because it sounded like they'd hold up to the venom longer. They never dissolved?"

"No. I just tossed them. Don't worry about it, Alice. I think maybe I'm simply allergic to playing human for any length of time. It'll be fine now."

She still didn't look convinced. "Well, I think Operation Human has done its job. Nobody can possibly think you're dead and buried in the woods or freakishly scarred or locked up somewhere. I'd still like to know why you lost track of what you were doing, though. That could be a dangerous habit for a vampire."

"One time's hardly a habit," I said. Boy, she really had a bee in her bonnet over a little absent mindedness. "I'm sure I handled everything that happened today just fine, if that's what's got you worried."

I thought for a moment, pleased that my sluggish brain had perked up enough to supply a precedent. "I don't know if you can remember when you were human, but every once in a while I'd wake up in the morning and just for a minute I couldn't figure out whether I was late for school or it was actually a weekend. It never took long to remember – just a moment of spaciness."

She smiled. "Okay. You're right. It was probably a combination of the sun and the contacts. You didn't feel weird when you first got to town, right?

"I don't think so, but it seemed to start out very gradually. I didn't notice it until about the time I started back here."

"And why did you do that – decide to come here?"

"I told you. I forgot I was supposed to meet you at your house."

"But what made you choose this place? Charlie won't be back for days. Were you looking for something you left behind?"

I might not be crazy, but I was beginning to wonder about her. I spoke the words distinctly, as if talking to someone with limited comprehension. "I live here, Alice. Where else am I supposed to go?"

For a moment, she looked as if I'd slapped her.

Then she seemed to gather her resources, speaking in a low, tight voice, "I want you to stay right here, Bella. I'm going outside to make a phone call. It will only take a few minutes. When I come back, we're going to straighten everything out. Will you do that?"

"Sure." She was gone in the blink of an eye. I pulled my knees up and curled into a ball. First, something had gone haywire inside me. Now the outside world seemed to be acting just as irrationally.

The smell of the old leather was comforting, familiar from a time when things made sense. I could hear Alice talking quietly and very quickly into her cell phone. Had she forgotten I was a vampire too?

"She says she lives here, and I swear when I first came to the door she didn't know who I was. . . No, she hasn't. . . She hasn't asked that either . . .This is truly scaring me. It doesn't make any sense. . . . Yes, of course, as fast as I can . . . Neutral subjects . . . I will, thanks."

A second later she was back in the living room. "Bella . . . honey, I want you to take a ride with me. We're going to run up to the hospital and have a doctor check you out."

"_A_ doctor? Don't you mean Carlisle?" I said, puzzled.

"Yes!" Relief washed over her delicate features. "Of course, Carlisle. He's waiting for us right now."

I didn't have any objection, though I thought Dr. Cullen might, having his valuable time wasted on a simple memory lapse. Did Alice always get carried away this easily?

Something told me that yes, yes she did.

If he was willing to set her mind at ease, there was no good reason not to cooperate, although I didn't see how someone who specialized in human ailments could diagnose a malfunctioning newborn. We didn't get diseases or tumors or blood clots or any of the other things that could go wrong with a non-immortal brain.

Alice pulled me outside to the source of the roaring I'd heard earlier. A yellow Porsche. Yes, that fit perfectly. I was barely in the seat, when she put the pedal to the metal, fish-tailing the car out onto the deserted road. She drove very fast, something that I vaguely recalled frightening me in my human life.

Now, I was beginning to like it. Maybe because I knew I wasn't going to die, but more because I'd learned to love speed in general, relishing my ability to rush through the trees faster than the deer.

Visiting hours were just ending when we pulled into the hospital parking lot. People emerged through the double doors, headed for their cars. "We need to go in the back way," Alice cautioned, adding in an accusatory tone, "You took your makeup off."

"Well, you don't have any on."

"Yes, but the staff has never seen me looking any other way. You might give them a jolt."

We headed unobtrusively as possible around the building, meeting no one on our way upstairs. Dr. Cullen was waiting in his office. He stood when we entered, and I think I gaped a little. Knowing his name was one thing; I'd forgotten how he looked.

"I'm glad you came, Bella," he said, smiling slightly. He stepped from behind his desk to take my hand in both of his, his eyes intent on mine. "How do you feel?"

"Fine," I said, "Just a little muddled."

"OK, I'm going to check a few things here. You don't have any pain?" He pulled out a penlight and shone it into my eyes.

"No."

"And you can't think of anything that happened today that might account for your confusion?"

"No, nothing." He'd put the penlight back into his pocket, and was feeling my head with gentle, practiced fingers.

_Tom Cruise_, I thought suddenly.

That's who he looked like, but in which movie? I started ticking them off in my mind, which cooperated rather nicely, considering. I'd counted five when I ran across the answer: _Interview with the Vampire_. I gave an involuntary laugh.

"Something funny?" Dr. Cullen asked.

"You remind me of a movie star. I have short-term memory loss," I added.

"Doing a little self-diagnosis, were you? Well, that can be helpful, although what you're describing is actually a symptom. I have to say, there's not likely to be any physical indications. I certainly don't find anything out of the ordinary. Whatever you can tell me about how you feel, when you noticed a difference, any of that may give us a clue."

Alice and I sat down on the sofa, and Dr. Cullen, Carlisle, pulled up a chair close to me. I explained as well as I could, leaving out the birds and fish, but sticking with the scattered puzzle pieces and how they occasionally connected.

When I finished, he turned to Alice, who'd been watching me anxiously through my odd recitation. "Can you bring me up to speed on exactly what you saw today?"

"Yes, well I made her up to go into town about four o'clock. I checked on her later, and she was in that gallery near the hardware store. Then I focused on Edward to see how he was doing in New York. Everything seemed on schedule, so I switched to Jasper who had stopped in Port Angeles to pick up that part for the generator, then back to Bella and she was in the post office. I did my second scan of the day on the Volturi who weren't planning anything interesting at all. Then I did Bella again and she was headed back home."

"Did you take a car into town?" Carlisle interrupted, looking at me.

I hadn't been paying a lot of attention, focusing instead on getting the Carlisle piece in my head to fit correctly with my nicely assembled Alice pieces, and I'd done it! She was his adopted daughter, and Alice was my closest friend, which was why I was familiar enough with my doctor to call him by his first name. "A car? No I was on foot."

"I see." He turned back to Alice.

"I took another little peek at Jasper to make sure he was going to get to Seattle in time to talk with the people at the museum there – and that opened a whole can of worms – but that part can wait. While I was talking to Jazz, I felt a kind of shock from Bella, so I concentrated there.

"She'd just come upon a human in the woods, which of course startled her, but there wasn't any kind of confrontation. They were talking about something really innocuous – plants, I think, so I went back to Edward. He was at Sotheby's, meeting with our connection there, and things were going pretty much as planned.

"When I looked back at Bella, the human was leaving and she was just standing there. I couldn't really get a fix on what she was thinking, but there weren't any signs of danger. I figured she was just enjoying the sun. After that, I did other things until I realized it was getting dark and Bella still wasn't home. I found her at Charlie's and, you know the rest."

Carlisle reached over and patted her hand. "I don't know what we'd do without you, Alice."

"Well, I obviously dropped the ball somewhere, because something's seriously messed up." The stress was back on her face. I hated that I'd put it there.

"Bella, I want you to do something for me," Carlisle said, leaning toward me. "I want you to go home with Alice – to our house tonight. I have a few things I want to look into here, concerning your situation, and I'll be home shortly. That way if you have any trouble during the night or remember anything else that might help us, I'll be right there. Will you do that?"

Before I could answer, Alice chimed in. "It will be like old times, Bella. You can stay in my room – or not – whatever you choose. Remember when I kidnapped you and we had a slumber party?"

Her rapid chatter couldn't catch hold in my mind, so I only answered "Yes" to Carlisle. Having other people tell me what to do was oddly welcome right now. I didn't feel like I could make any decisions, at least not rational ones.

"Bella, would you excuse us for a minute?" Carlisle stood, and Alice went with him to the far side of the room. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "We need to be very careful about leading her. Whatever's causing this, it's important that she figure things out for herself. As I said on the phone, stick to neutral subjects. Take your cues from her and what she feels the need to talk about."

"But if things have slipped her mind, wouldn't it be helpful to remind her about them?" Alice threw a furtive glance my way, as if checking to see if I was listening. Of course, I was listening, although the conversation wasn't making any more sense than anything else I'd heard in the last few hours.

"I don't believe it would. Right now her thinking is fragmented – like a hard drive on a computer."

"And she needs to optimize it to get everything back into place?"

"Exactly, but _her_ brain is the only one that knows where everything goes. If we suggest things to her, if we ask what she remembers about this or that, we may just confuse the process.

"I have to tell you, I'm really working in the dark here. I've never heard of anything like this occurring in one of us. Until we know what we're dealing with, we can't be sure it wouldn't cause serious harm to bring up something she's purposely pushed aside."

"What about everyone else? They need to be warned too."

"I'll make a phone call as soon as you're gone," Carlisle assured her. "Just don't drive so fast that I can't finish it before you get there."

"Okay." Alice nodded, and her voice was so subdued I almost couldn't hear it.

Carlisle noticed it too and put his arms around her. "I know you're worried, but I'm going to contact everyone I can think of who might have any knowledge that could help. There are some old records that might give us some hints, as well, and don't underestimate the internet.

"This could pass as quickly as it started, but if it does take some time, I don't want you to get discouraged. Bella is family, and we're all going to see that she gets past it." He kissed her on the forehead, and Alice managed a smile.

That was a really nice touch, I thought, saying I was "family." Hearing it totally squelched my urge to announce, "I'm crazy, not deaf."

Maybe whispering in corners was a courtesy, and they knew I wouldn't understand that much anyway. What incredibly warm people they were – for cold vampires. I really had to pull myself together – for their sakes as well as mine.

"Are you ready to go?"Alice said with what I thought was forced cheerfulness.

"I guess so, but I don't have any of my things."

"Of course, you – " She stopped, throwing an apologetic look at Carlisle and began again. "That is, I'm sure we can find you anything you need."

Dr. Cullen showed us to the door, promising he'd be home as soon as he could. The hospital was quieter now. We slipped down the backstairs without encountering anyone. Once in the angry-sounding car, I said, "You're really lucky to have him for a father figure, Alice."

"But he's – " She abandoned whatever she'd been about to say again. Maybe I was contagious and she was losing track of her thoughts too. "Your dad's a winner, too."

"Yeah, Charlie's great."

Alice drove amazingly slowly – for a vampire anyway. Several times she seemed to be on the verge of speaking, but changed her mind. That was fine with me. I had a lot of work to do just getting my mental ducks in a row.

When we reached the house, secluded in the forest, I couldn't hide my admiration. "It's beautiful," I exclaimed. All the windows were glowing. They threw nets of light across the dark lawn. "I . . . I've always thought so," I added, welcoming another familiar fact.

Alice took my arm as we went up the steps and into the bright interior. I glanced around, beginning to understand that if I could just look at the things that should be familiar to me they would pop back into their proper place. It seemed to be working quite well when a soft voice interrupted my efforts.

"We're so glad to see you, Bella."

I turned to see three figures standing in the doorway of what appeared to be a dining room. It was the smallest who had spoken, a woman a few years older than me with soft, waving brown hair and dimples. Again – the warm vibe was very strong. I imagined another one of the puzzle pieces twirling through the air, looking for its proper place to land. She came over and enveloped me in a gentle hug.

"I'm happy to be here," I said, wondering if it sounded too formal for the occasion.

The biggest person standing there grinned. "Emmett," he said, pointing theatrically at his own head.

"You're not supposed to do that," hissed the blonde at his side before turning back to me. "I'm sorry you're not feeling well, Bella."

"Thanks." I nodded, feeling incredibly awkward. Emmett, whose name seemed to fit him, evoked a comfortable reaction as well. The blonde, on the other hand, struck a note of irritation, even as I sensed that her concern was sincere.

Weird. I'd have to think about that one.

Nobody seemed to know what to say, after that, until Alice spoke up. "I'm just going to take Bella to my room," she said. "She's had a trying day."

"Trying" was as good a word as any. I felt like I'd been trying for hours to focus, to get my thoughts in order, to figure out what in the world was going on with me. And I felt tired. Not in the way humans get tired, but mentally. I just wanted to block out all the sensations I could and give my mind a chance to settle.

Showering felt wonderful, washing out all the gunk that was supposed to make my hair look less lustrous. Aha, I thought, a mostly clear memory from just this morning, though it felt like days ago. Recent memories were coming back. I dried off and put on the not-too-objectionable pajamas Alice had thoughtfully laid out for me.

For the first time since I'd become immortal, I wished I could sleep. If I could just quiet the turmoil in my head, I was sure everything would go back to normal. I'd wake up refreshed and feeling like myself again. That wasn't an option, but the ability to remain totally still and focused could help too.

"Is there anything you'd like to do?" Alice asked as I reentered her room.

"Not really. If you don't mind, I'd kind of like to just veg– by myself."

"That's probably a really good idea," she enthused. "I'll leave you alone, but I'll be right downstairs if you need anything, and Carlisle should be here soon."

"Thanks for everything you did today, Alice. I know I've been kind of a pain."

"That's not true," she said, grasping my shoulders. "I love you, Bella, and everything's going to be fine." She kissed me quickly and flitted from the room.

I lay down and stared into nothingness, hoping something would come of it.


	10. Carlisle I

_A/N: Surprise!_

_The last chapter was a little shorter than usual. This one is as well, so I decided to do an extra post this week. Bella's having enough trouble putting her thoughts in order without us getting in there too, so we'll check in with another Cullen, one who inevitably feels the weight of responsibility when any of his family is troubled._

Chapter 10

Carlisle I

It was my favorite time of day. Sometimes it came in the daylight, sometimes close to midnight, depending on the need at the hospital. This was the time that marked the division between my two lives: the one where I was valued for what I could do and the one where I was welcomed for who I was.

The first had grown from centuries of hard work and discipline. It gave purpose to my existence. That path had always been clear to me. The other involved problematic choices of morality and self-indulgence that had at times been gut-wrenching, but the result was something I'd scarcely dreamed of. This home, filled with people I loved who were glad when I came through the door.

As I swung the Mercedes into the garage, I saw that Alice had left the Porsche in the driveway. That told me a little about her state of mind. Well, sitting out all night wouldn't hurt it, I thought, as I passed on my way to the front steps. The soothing mood that always settled over me in these moments was there, tempered by an awareness that all was not well.

My two lives were intersecting in a way any good doctor would avoid. You don't treat your own loved ones; you don't place your medical expertise at the mercy of emotions. But there was no other option for us, and I felt the perils of my professional life accompanying me through the front door.

"Carlisle," Esme said with relief, running to kiss my cheek. "I'm so glad you're here."

I pulled her to me, relishing the scent from the clouds of hair that brushed my face. Three other sets of eyes were on me as well, waiting for me to fix what was wrong.

"How is she?" I said by way of greeting.

"OK, I think." It was Alice who answered. "She's relaxing in my room – in the dark, just trying to calm her mind."

"That's good. The less confusion around her the better right now. Can we all sit down and talk about this?"

It was clearly what they'd been expecting. Emmett and Rosalie took one end of the long white sofa, and I pulled Esme down beside me on the other. Alice lit on the arm of a chair across from us.

"So tell me what you all observed? Any odd behavior besides the memory lapse?"

"Hardly saw her," said Emmett. "She seemed a little flakey."

"I'm almost sure she didn't remember the house when we first pulled up. She made some comment about how nice it was – like you would if you were visiting." Alice twisted her small hands together. "But when I took her upstairs, I left her in the hall to get some towels, and when I went to my room she was already there. She knew where it was."

I nodded. "Anything else?"

"She didn't ask about her own daughter," Rosalie said, and her tone defied anyone to top that for odd behavior.

"Did she see Nessie?"

"No, she was already in bed." Esme explained. "I'm afraid we wore her out in Port Angeles today, and she didn't get a nap. The poor baby is still out like a light."

"How can a mother forget about her own child?" Rosalie demanded.

"I think Bella's having trouble accessing her memories, Rose. It isn't that they aren't there. When Alice brought her into the office, she looked at me like she'd never seen me before. She said I reminded her of an actor."

"Christian Bale?" she asked.

"I have no idea. The point is by the time she left I think she had a good grasp on who I was. Presented with something tangible, she seems to pull in the associations that go with it."

"Well, then we need to show her Nessie as soon as possible."

I hated to squelch her enthusiasm. "I don't think that would be such a good idea, Rose. Keep in mind, we're dealing with another kind of intellect here, not just Bella's. Nessie is incredibly advanced, but she is still in many ways, as Esme said, a baby.

"If Bella hesitated to respond to her in the usual way, it could be very traumatic for her. We can hardly expect her to understand a situation that we don't understand ourselves."

"That's so sad," Esme murmured.

I hugged her to me. "I know. But until we have a better handle on what's going on with Bella, I'd prefer to err on the side of caution."

"So obviously we need Edward," Rosalie said. "From Bella's viewpoint, everything in the cosmos revolves around him anyway, so wouldn't that help her put things in perspective?"

"There's your answer." Emmett slapped his hands on his thighs as if the matter was settled. "Just call Edward now and tell him to get his butt home early."

"No," Esme spoke up before I had a chance to. "Please, don't do that to him. It isn't as if he could be here in an hour or two, and the whole time he was traveling, he'd just be getting more and more agitated. There's no point in putting him through that."

"Yeah, two Cullens freaking out at once is not a pretty sight," Emmett muttered.

"No one's freaking out," I told him. "But we all remember what it was like during the pregnancy. We despaired as much for Edward as for Bella. My hope is that by the time he gets home on Friday, whatever is going on with her will be over."

"He'll be able to tell though, if he calls her," Rosalie pointed out, "and you know he's going to."

"I don't think so." Alice pulled something from her pocket and waggled it in front of our faces – one of the little silver cell phones I'd bought for the whole family. "This is Bella's."

"How'd you manage that?" Emmett asked, smirking.

"I took it out of her jacket while she was in the shower, and I checked to see if she'd had any calls. Nothing in or out since she left home this afternoon."

"Good thinking, Alice." She'd been looking so uncharacteristically glum that I was glad to have a reason to compliment her. "But, of course, he's still going to try and get through to one of us, especially if he can't reach her."

"I thought of that, too." Alice said. She looked a little more cheerful. "I called him myself, after I thought of a lie he might actually swallow. I told him she'd decided to take Charlie up on his invitation to spend a day or two at the cabin. He knows there's no phone reception up there."

"Very clever, dear," Esme said with an appreciative nod. "Did he believe you?"

"Of course." Alice gave a smug smile. "He should have. I practiced for half an hour before I phoned him."

"Lying and stealing both in one afternoon." Emmett grinned. "There's hope for you yet, little sister."

"What happens in the morning, when Nessie wakes up?" Rosalie asked. "She's going to want her mother. That's a problem."

"I agree. Any thoughts on what to do about it?" I looked at each of them, the members of this family council, incomplete but still formidable. It amused me how automatically they turned to their father figure to solve whatever crisis threatened, when in fact, it was seldom my ideas alone that guided us.

Each of them had a valuable contribution to make to any decision, though I suspected they didn't always see that in the conflux of their disparate personalities.

Esme, whose innate kindness made her approach every problem without prejudice, hoping to do what was best for everyone. Alice, so clever and unstoppable in her determination. Our prickly Rose. Did she guess how often her cynicism brought a much-needed wariness to our too-reckless plans? And Emmett who went straight to the point with no complicated emotions to fog the issue.

Would we really have flourished this long or even survived, without Edward's intellect and sensitivity or Jasper's hard-earned strategic skills? And now there was Bella, brave and selfless and surprisingly fierce. The rest of us had to concentrate on bringing her back.

"If we don't want Nessie to be upset," Alice reasoned. "We'll need to distract her with something special."

"We are not sending her off with Barking Boy again tomorrow." Rosalie's tone was vehement. "He lets her do anything she wants until she's so tired she can't see straight. That can't be good for her."

Alice pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Well, we could make less of a terrible liar of me and really let her visit Charlie at the cabin. Edward already assumes she's there with Bella. Nessie just adores Charlie, and everyone there is safe, as far as she's concerned. It will be Billy and Sue Clearwater and whichever of the pack stops by for the day. She'd have a great time."

"That's a wonderful idea," Esme said, "but you can't take her, Alice. You need to stick close to Bella."

"I'll do it. You can get by without me for a day or so, can't you, sweetie?"Rosalie said turning to Emmett.

He looked at her and guffawed. "Could I get by? Yeah, probably, but somebody'd be getting the smack down. You really think you could hang out with Jake and Leah and those other hairy dudes without blowing a gasket? We've got a treaty to protect, babe." He hooked an arm around her neck and planted a loud kiss on her forehead.

Rosalie scowled. "I didn't think of that. The place probably smells like a kennel."

"Don't worry, dear. I'll be happy to do it." Esme looked up at me. "I don't know any of them well, except for Charlie, of course, but I feel it's time I made an effort. I could help Sue with the cooking – that would be fun. Unless you think they might object."

I smiled and tucked a tumbling wave behind her ear. "Who could possibly object to you? Besides, Renesmee's like a key that opens any door. When they see her, I'm sure they'll make you both welcome.

"On the other hand," I continued, "it's entirely possible that Bella will snap out of it at any minute and ask for Nessie. It won't help her state of mind to learn we've sent her child away without her permission."

"Do you really think that could happen?" Alice's eyes were large with hope.

"Absolutely. Most episodes of this nature are short-lived."

"Well, if it does, then we'll just hop in the Porsche and drive up to get her. It would help if I had any idea at all what Bella might do, but she simply isn't even trying to make decisions right now."

"No, her thoughts are too scattered for that. I put in a few calls before I left the hospital to experts who might be able to help – neurologists, psychiatrists. If she's not over it by morning, there's a good chance I'll hear from someone who can point us in the right direction."

"I don't see how those guys can help," Rosalie said dismissively. "They try to figure out what's wrong with humans. Whatever Bella's problem is, it doesn't come from the kind of thing that happens to their patients. She's just as indestructible as the rest of us."

"For all intents and purposes, you're right, Rose, but I'm not so much concerned with what caused her condition, as what methods might be useful in treating it. Where symptoms are similar, there might be a course of action that could work for her. The partial amnesia, for instance – causes for that may vary but I'm really not up on the latest pathologies. I'm reaching out to experts who are."

"Amnesia?" Emmett looked startled. "I thought that was something they dreamed up on the soaps."

"Just what do you know about soap operas, Em," Esme teased.

"I see the promos – you know, during the commercial breaks. There was this girl Tiffany. She left the convent to hook up with an ex-priest only on the way to their wedding, she gets side-swiped by a semi – wham!" Emmett pounded one meaty fist into his palm and several knickknacks jumped on their shelves. "When she wakes up in the hospital, she can't remember a thing – not who she is, not Lance – that's the priest – or anybody. So then she falls for this Brick guy – "

"What's a 'brick guy,' dear?"

"No, that's his name – Brick," Emmett explained. "He's like a Chippendale dancer or something. Anyway, they're getting' down and dirty and decide to run off to Vegas to get hitched, only Lance finds out and follows them. He runs in and decks the groom. Everybody's wailing on everybody else. The minister takes a header into a pew and he's out cold."

"The minister?" Esme interrupted. "You mean Father Lance?"

'No, no, I mean Elvis. The dude that's supposed to marry them is an Elvis impersonator. Anyhow, it ends up with the cops arresting everybody."

"You got all that from a couple of promos," Rosalie said drily.

"Well, pretty much, yeah. There was a week or two when the remote wasn't working right. You know, some of those love scenes get way steamy for network television. We really ought to watch them together sometime, babe."

"I might be up for that," Rosalie said, softening noticeably and wrapping her arms around Emmett's bicep.

"My point is – that amnesia can be dangerous sh- stuff."

I nodded, a little numbly. "I'm sure it can."

"But what we do know," Alice said, frowning, and I thought she'd probably tuned out all of Emmett's monologue, "is that Bella's a newborn. We're all amazed at how she's avoided so much of the crazy behavior we would expect, but what if her confusion is the result of that somehow? Like something's been short-circuited along the way. I know, I'm not making any sense but – "

"You're making perfect sense, Alice," I assured her. "The most significant thing about Bella right now is that she's a newborn. The change she's undergone is the most extreme imaginable. Our answer might very well lie in that direction. I had already planned to spend tonight going through the documents and chronicles handed down about immortals. I'll be looking for evidence of something similar happening in the past. But before I forget it, what's going on with Jasper?"

"Everything's fine now," Alice started out, not wanting to add to our worry. "It's just that the truck threw a rod outside of Kingston."

"I knew it!" Rosalie couldn't keep the note of triumph out of her voice. "I told him yesterday it didn't sound right, and I offered to check it out, but no, he didn't want to hear about it. So – is there a hole in the block? Did he total the entire engine?"

"I don't know exactly. He had to have it towed."

"What a wuss," Emmett snorted. "Why didn't he just push it into town himself?"

"Oh, way to keep a low profile, you big doofus," Rosalie taunted, shoving a hand through his short hair.

"Are you calling me names, woman? Just wait till I get you alone." Ever up for a challenge, Emmett leered at her. "I bet I can get you to call me something a whole lot better than that."

"We'll see about that, won't we?" she whispered with a look that was half defiant and half come-on. This meeting was obviously close to over.

"Anyway," Alice continued with an impatient look at the two of them, "he's paying the mechanics to work on it all night, and he called Seattle to postpone his meeting till tomorrow. Tonight I told him to get away from town and hunt."

"You think he'll be all right off by himself this long?" I asked her.

"He'll be fine," she said confidently.

"Well, then you can stay in touch with him while you spend time with Bella tomorrow," I said. "Esme, you might want to get some things together for the baby so you can leave as soon as she wakes up. Emmett, Rosalie, I'd appreciate a little help with the research. I've written a list of things to check online, if you could spend an hour or two at your computers – sometime before morning."

They all seemed relieved to have something specific to do. It was an approach that worked with the hospital staff as well. If you have a problem and no solution, people feel better trying to help, however unproductive that might turn out to be.

I retired to my office. The entire bottom of the bookcase running the length of the room was in reality a fireproof safe. It was here that I kept any written material that hinted at what we were. I unlocked it now and began pulling out armfuls of yellow file folders, documents and letters, even a few journals of those who had come before us. I took two large stacks to the desk and settled in for the night.

I decided to begin with the most recent in hopes of finding a relevant approach to Bella's condition, if it wasn't unprecedented. The further back I went into the archives, the more likely any kind of mental aberration would be put down to demons and curses. Although I'd read most of the documents at one time or another, I hadn't been looking for what I was looking for now. Nothing could safely be skipped over.

After a few unproductive hours, I replaced the folders I'd gone through with some of the green ones that contained accounts in other languages, ones in which I had sufficient fluency to grasp the subtleties. The blue ones I shoved aside. They would require translations by someone else, and I hoped not to have to take that risk.

Then there were the red folders. These were the ones I'd transcribed from the Volturis' own archives during my time in Italy. They were quick reading since they'd been written in my own hand, but I always felt a slight unease when opening them, as if Aro would somehow sense I'd plundered his store of knowledge.

By the time the rising sun had glazed the window a soft tangerine, I had only a few notes to show for my efforts, none of them very promising. The soft knock on my office door came as a welcome reprieve.

"Honey, can I come in?" Esme opened the door a few inches and looked at me anxiously.

"Please," I said, opening my arms to her. "You can't know how welcome your lovely face is, after a fairly wasted night."

"You didn't find anything useful then?" She said, settling into my lap and nuzzling my cheek.

"Not where immortals are concerned. If this sort of problem has happened before, it doesn't appear anyone's bothered to record it."

"Well, that's good news, isn't it? Maybe it happens all the time, but it's so brief and insignificant that no one thought it worth mentioning."

"That is one way of looking at it," I agreed, smiling at her ability to find the positive among the negatives. "The fact is most dissociative conditions have a physical component that just isn't going to be found in a vampire. We're immune to the injuries and illnesses that cause them. There is one idea I've been toying with, but I'll need to talk to someone with experience in that area to see if it has any validity. Have you ever heard of a fugue state?"

"Fugue . . . you mean like in music?"

"Same word, different application. It's relatively rare but intriguing in that the trigger is psychogenic, not physical. The sufferer experiences partial amnesia, often very selective, in an effort to block out unwelcome thoughts. In extreme cases, they've been known to adapt a whole new identity, completely forgetting who they are."

"That's not Bella." Esme shook her head. "She knows perfectly well who she is, even if it takes her a while to put names and faces together."

"No, those are the rare cases, the ones the media snaps up simply because they are so bizarre. I'm wondering if Bella's condition isn't a very mild form of the same process."

"Wait, when you say 'psychogenic', what do you mean exactly?"

"Just that the problem is psychological in origin, rather than physical, brought on by something so unacceptable to the mind that it must be blocked out."

Esme frowned, all the while stroking my hair with the gentlest touch I've ever known. "Well, she's certainly had her share of those, but not recently. She practically radiates happiness."

"She does, but what just happened that might not seem important to us but could feel very stressful to Bella?"

My adoring wife pulled back to look at me with an expression so dubious that I had to smile. "Are you talking about Edward's leaving? Oh, no, sweetheart. I'm sure you're wrong about that. She's handled it very well."

"On the surface perhaps, but their bond is intense, to say the least. I'm wondering if subconsciously what they've been through might have piled up. Keep in mind that every time they've been kept apart, chaos has ensued. People have died or nearly died. It could make any separation seem threatening."

She didn't look convinced. "I spent quite a bit of time with her yesterday, and I honestly didn't get that impression."

"Did she talk about Edward?"

"No, not really, but that's natural. She's trying to keep her mind off . . . oh, well, I guess I see what you're getting at, but why hasn't she asked for Nessie?"

"Do you honestly think she can ever look in that little girl's face and not see Edward? I'm just speculating that once she found herself alone with her own thoughts, it was easier to push that whole part of her life aside to keep from worrying. It's only for a very short time, don't forget, and once he's back, she won't need that defense anymore."

Esme pursed her lips, considering. "Well, you are the smartest man I've ever known, so I suppose I should hope you're right about this, even if it means getting through another day with a Bella who's only half there. She's just such a fierce little creature, it's hard for me to imagine her not meeting trouble head on."

"This is why you're my favorite sounding board," I teased, kissing her nose. "You're not a 'yes man'."

"Maybe you haven't asked me the right questions," she purred. She's the only woman I know who can look seductive and pure as the driven snow at the same time.

"I wish there was time to change that," I sighed, but I need to be at the hospital in an hour. There might be some news waiting for me on that end. Are you all ready to go?"

"Everything's packed," she said with her easy smile. "I just have to get Nessie ready in the car and say good-bye to you."

"Let me lock up here, and I'll meet you downstairs." I kissed her again and made quick work of getting all the papers back into their safe place. She was waiting by the door of the Mercedes when I came outside, Renesmee secured in her car seat.

"How are you this morning, pumpkin?" I asked, pleased when her sleepy face lit up with a smile. "I didn't get to see you last night before you went to bed. Did you have a good time in Port Angeles?"

The smile widened and she nodded, then held up her hand to touch my cheek. Her large brown eyes turned thoughtful. I leaned over her a minute absorbing her incredibly lucid thoughts. "Yes, they'll both be here very soon, I promise, but today Charlie needs someone to play with, so you and Esme are going to have some fun. And you'll remember about our secret, won't you?" I'd spoken my side of the conversation aloud for Esme's benefit, and now Renesmee sent me a silent message that made me laugh. "You're right, it is kind of funny." I kissed her pink cheek and closed the door, joining Esme on the other side.

"What's funny?" she asked, dimpling up at me.

"Charlie's moustache, according to Nessie. She says it looks like a caterpillar."

Esme laughed and put her arms around me. "It might be the only one she's ever seen. She probably thinks it's unique to Charlie."

"Well, heaven knows, we're big on "unique" around here. What's one more oddity among friends?" I grinned and kissed her properly. I waited while she got into the driver's seat, closing the door for her and waving one more time, as the car slid quietly down the long drive.

Emmett and Rosalie were just coming back from an early morning run. They showed me the few items of interest they'd come across online. After showering and dressing, there was just enough time to look in on my patient.

I tapped softly on Alice's door. She opened it immediately. "Come on in," she invited. "It's not like anyone around here is sleeping."

Bella looked as if she might be. She was stretched out on Alice's bed, wearing a pair of silk pajamas. Her eyes were closed, but she opened them at my approach.

"How are you doing?" I asked, studying her face.

"OK, I think. I feel like I may have an idea where a few more pieces go." She sat up and crossed her legs in one fluid movement. "Did you ever have one of those little plastic things when you were a kid – " She broke off with a look of chagrin. "No, of course, you didn't. That was a long time ago for you wasn't it?"

I pulled up the pink satin chair next to the bed, and set down, nodding with a rueful smile. "Let's just say the toy industry wasn't what it is today, but you remembered that about me – it's a good sign."

She continued, shoving her heavy hair out of her eyes. It fell back down in moments. "It's a plastic square and inside it are a lot of little squares with parts of a picture on them. They don't look like anything in particular by themselves, but if you keep scooting them around into the right places, you wind up with something that makes sense,"

"And do you feel like all the pieces are there?"

She laughed. "It's funny you should say that. When I was little, I loved jigsaw puzzles, but I never got to work one more than once. I always somehow managed to lose a few pieces on the first time out, so they were no fun to do the second time. I kept begging Renee to buy me more. She said she could have sent me to college on what she spent for them. I guess I won't know if anything's missing until the picture's complete."

Bella's smile was wistful but encouraging nonetheless. "That's good that you recall that," I told her. "Did your mother's name just come to you on its own?"

"Sort of." She frowned, "I was trying to see where I fit in. I had you and Alice connected, and then Esme, and I remembered the other girl's name – Rosalie. I know she's with Emmett, and they're both your adopted children, too. It was just me that didn't seem to have a place, and then the whole puzzle thing popped into my mind, and there was my mom."

"That must have made you feel better." I smiled at her, heartened by her stubborn resolve to fight her way out of the confusion. "I'm hoping to find some more information that can help you today, but in any case, I'm confident that by the end of the week everything will be back to normal."

"What makes you so sure?" she asked.

Not all that distracted, I noted, mind quick as ever. "Let's just say there'll be a few more pieces in place that I'm sure will help you complete what you're working on." I turned to Alice who'd been standing statue still at the foot of the bed. "I had Esme take the Mercedes and the Volvo's at the airport, do you mind if I borrow the Porsche or are you planning to go out?"

"No, you can take it, as long as you promise not to hurt it."

"I'll do my best."

I left then, feeling cautiously optimistic, which is the only kind of optimism a prudent doctor should ever feel.


	11. Interplay I

Chapter 11

Interplay I

The clothes Alice had found for me looked strangely familiar. "Aren't these mine?" I asked, as I buttoned the flannel shirt. The jeans fit me perfectly.

"You left them the last time you were here," she said. "I thought maybe you'd like to take a walk this morning. There's still a little bit of sun, but we'll make sure you don't overdo it this time."

Walking was a good thing to do when you wanted to contemplate something, I supposed, though it didn't strike me as a pastime Alice would usually choose. She seemed so full of energy. I could imagine her darting lightly from one task to another, never slowing down.

Or maybe it wasn't my imagination at all, but simply something else I already knew.

I'd half expected her to chatter the whole time, but she seemed determined to leave me to my thoughts. We walked along the river for a while, listening to the musical sound where it tumbled over the rocks near the bank. A few intermittent rays of sunlight scattered here and there over the water's surface, making it sparkle in a rare display of defiance to the clouds and trees that conspired to keep this corner of the planet in perpetual gloom.

After a while, I broke the lengthy silence. "Is this weird, Alice, hanging out together without any conversation?"

"Not particularly. You've never been much of a chatterbox, and to tell you the truth I'm a little reluctant to say anything. Carlisle thinks we should wait for you to bring up a subject."

"Hmm." It shouldn't be this much of a challenge. I looked around for a topic and chose the most obvious one. "How about trees? Seen any trees lately, Alice?"

"Why yes, Bella, I have," she said cheerily. "That one, for instance. It's either a Soggy Sycamore or that popular favorite the Washington Wetwood."

"Actually, I think that's a black cottonwood."

"Seriously?"

"I think so. Charlie got me a book one summer about the trees of the Olympic Peninsula. We spent a lot of time traipsing through the woods, trying to identify them. Never a dull moment in Forks," I added.

"I'm amazed you could ever pull yourself away to go back to Phoenix."

"So I can remember some stupid tree," I muttered, "but it took me a while last night to come up with your sister's name. What's up with that?"

"Some people might say you were just demonstrating good taste," Alice said impishly. "Oops, forget I said that."

"Don't worry. I probably will." I wasn't even sure what she'd meant, but it seemed to reinforce my impression that Rosalie was not the warmest of the Cullens.

We seemed to have exhausted the subject of trees, so the silence returned, but it didn't feel uncomfortable. We just kept walking for miles and miles, never tiring. The sameness of the forest was soothing after so much time trying to calm the chaos in my mind. I could have kept walking forever, but I knew I wasn't actually getting anywhere, and when Alice suggested we head for home, that was all right, too.

No one was there when we entered. Rosalie and Emmett had left for the day. Alice didn't say where, though I assumed they were hunting. Esme had gone to visit Charlie at the cabin, which seemed odd to me. My collection of mental bits and pieces didn't seem to contain one that would connect the two of them in any meaningful way.

"It's positively gloomy in here," Alice complained, as we passed through the large airy front rooms. In fact, the sun had given up its efforts to make a dint in the murky wilderness. Even the vast window wall could only draw in a pallid light. "I think I'll cheer the place up with some flowers. Want to help?"

Having no particular agenda of my own, I followed her out to the little green house behind the garage.

"I might as well tell you, Esme plans to make this into a real conservatory, tall as the house with fountains and little nooks to sit in. I think it's an absolutely amazing idea. We all like it – except for Emmett who says the last thing we need around here is more plants."

"You can see his point," I said with a smile. "But it could be really beautiful, and all of you could sit in the sun and sparkle to your hearts' content."

"And you too, of course," Alice said kindly. In a little painted cabinet she found gardening gloves and shears, grabbed up a scoop-shaped basket and headed for the rose bushes. "Rosalie thought it would be fun to have a piano out here, but . . . someone pointed out the humidity wouldn't be good for it. There has to be music, though, don't you think? Something classical to go with the lilies and the orchids."

"I spend a lot of time here, don't I, Alice?"

"In the greenhouse? No – oh, you just mean in general." She began scrutinizing the roses, carefully choosing which ones to cut, and dropping them gently in her basket. "Of course, you do Bella. We all enjoy having you here."

"It's just that I seem to know where things are, and it all feels very familiar somehow."

Alice beamed at me. "That's just what everyone wants to hear. You're doing great. We need some greenery to go with these. See what you can find over there." She nodded toward the other end of the room where flats of leafy things flourished in the corner. There were electric lights everywhere, but not of the same kind.

"These lamps," I said, "they're all different according to what's meant to grow under them, right? Do you think there's a kind that a cactus would like?"

She looked puzzled for a moment and then laughed her trilling laugh. "Do you still have that thing? That poor little fugitive from Phoenix?"

"Of course," I said, a little defensively. "But I don't think it's doing very well. I wondered if getting a special light would help."

"It might. Where is it anyway? Did you leave it at Charlie's?"

Where else would it be? Did she think I carried it around in my purse? "It's still on my window sill, trying desperately to find some sun." I added some pretty leaves to her basket, now brimming with roses.

"Then we'll go get it and bring it here. We'll find a nice dry place and give the poor prickly thing a chance to recover."

Did the Cullens always do this, I wondered – go around rescuing people and plants, nursing them back to health? It seemed like a strange hobby for a coven of vampires.

Back in the kitchen, Alice pulled vases from the cabinets and trimmed the flowers in the sink, asking my advice on where to place each one, though I seriously doubted she needed it. She struck me as someone who felt very comfortable with her own opinions.

"You know, the conservatory was meant to be a surprise, not that you wouldn't catch on when the building started, but I think we've all had it with surprises for the moment. I'm sure Esme wouldn't care if we talked about it. Would you like to see her plans?"

"If you don't think she'd mind."

"Well," Alice tossed back over her shoulder, already tripping lightly up the stairway. "I'm sure she'd like to show them to you herself, but if you can bear telling just a tiny fib and pretending you've never seen them before when she offers, then everyone will be happy."

Esme's studio was in a corner of the second floor. North light, Alice pointed out. There was a drafting table and a desk topped with a computer. It took me a minute to recognize the machine next to them, the biggest printer I'd ever seen. There were a few comfortable looking chairs and a chaise lounge that looked like it might have been in a movie about Napoleon. Low shelves ran along the walls.

"This is where she usually does her preliminary sketches," Alice said, nodding at the chaise. "Then when she gets into the production phase, she uses the drawing table or the computer."

She bent over the shelves and ran her finger along the dozens of tablets stored there. "This is the one." The pad she drew out was about two feet long and filled with thick textured paper. We sat on the floor, and she flipped through the pages, till she found what she wanted. "Here, this is what it will look like when it's finished – more like a rendering really."

I had expected a simple pencil drawing or charcoal. This had been done with pastels. Among the myriad shades of green, bright colors popped out of the picture – yellows, and crimson, orange and dainty, blushing pink. A small waterfall was just visible between the branches. Long, clear panes of glass, leaded like church windows, soared three stories above a gleaming floor that was clearly meant to represent marble.

"It's beautiful," I exclaimed. "Esme's such a talented artist, and she's the architect as well?"

Alice nodded. She looked pleased by my enthusiasm. "These trees with the huge leaves? We're hoping to bring them in from South America, along with orchids and all kinds of tropical plants. Everything that couldn't possibly grow outside here. I suppose you could call it a kind of a rebellion."

I grinned. "I felt like that when I first moved back here – all the moss and the ferns and the dripping trees everywhere you looked. I just wanted to yell, 'give it a rest already.' And now you're making your own environment, just the way you want it. That's totally cool, Alice."

"Well, since we don't actually fit in here ourselves, it seems appropriate." She leafed slowly through the sketch pad showing me the structural drawings and the way the conservatory would look before it was planted. "Did you know Esme designed this house as well?" she said when we'd finished and hopped lightly to her feet in search of the original house plans.

The afternoon passed swiftly, as we looked through the various wonderful designs that Esme had made a reality. People with a particular talent always fascinated me, probably because I had none of my own. When I said as much to Alice, she naturally protested. Of course, she would; she was my best friend.

"I've never been artistic or musical," I insisted. "Until I became a vampire, I couldn't even manage the physical things that other people find easy."

"You have your talents, Bella. You'll just need to rediscover them for yourself, and when you do you'll be pleasantly surprised, believe me."

"If you say so."

I helped her put away Esme's drawings, and we went back down to the living room to wait for the others. The setting sun had found an angle that let its presence be known again, glazing the big glass wall in a warm orange-ish glow. It was much more cheerful now. I sank down into the soft leather couch, while Alice tweaked one of her flower arrangements on the credenza.

"How many other people are there in your family?" I asked in what I hoped was a casual tone.

She turned to look at me with a wide-eyed stare. "You're actually asking me that question?"

"Uh . . . yeah. I'm pretty sure I just did. Is that a tough one?"

She seemed to force herself to blink, and I could see that she was pulling in a deep breath. "It's just that not talking about something and not remembering . . . that's two different things. I guess I hoped . . ."

Wow, she looked as confused as I felt. "I didn't mean to freak you out, Alice. Was I supposed to save that one for the Double Jeopardy round?"

"What? Oh . . . no. I just wasn't expecting it. What . . . what exactly did you ask me again?"

"I asked you how many people are in your family – besides the ones I've just met."

"Met," she repeated, walking toward me with a wary expression. "Why . . . why do you ask?"

"You're not my shrink, Alice. You don't have to answer every question with a question. It's a pretty normal thing to ask, isn't it? I know there are others, because you mentioned them to Carlisle when we went to the hospital. I just wasn't paying much attention."

"I don't think I'm really supposed to talk about this kind of thing with you," she said cautiously. "Carlisle thinks it's best if you remember at your own pace."

"This _is_ my own pace," I said, and it sounded a little snippy. "It's just a number, Alice. I'm not grilling you on intimate details."

She sat down next to me on the couch, still looking undecided. Finally, she sighed heavily, and said, "Three."

"See, that wasn't so bad, was it? What are they – boys or girls?"

"Bella, I really don't feel comfortable with this."

"Why?" I said, keeping my voice light. "Do you have a crazy old aunt locked up in the attic? I won't tell anyone, I promise."

She smiled in spite of herself. "You can be enormously stubborn, you know that? All right," she took a totally unnecessary breath. "I have two more brothers and . . . and a niece."

"A niece, really? Does she live here?"

"No," she answered quickly. "Just nearby."

"Okay, so what about your brothers – are they like Emmett?"

She laughed and rolled her eyes. "No, they're not much like Emmett at all."

"You say that like it's a good thing," I teased. "I like Emmett. He seems funny."

"Oh, Emmett's great, really. No, it's just that they're not much like him – or each other, for that matter. Remember, we're all adopted."

"Are you close to them?" I persisted.

"Very." She seemed okay with this line of questioning, general as it was. "Only in completely different ways."

"Like how?"

"Well, one of them could be my true brother, a twin almost. We have more in common than our other siblings do. And the other . . . the other isn't really like a brother at all."

I watched as several undefined emotions flickered across her dainty features. She seemed at a loss as to what to say next, and suddenly it hit me. "Alice," I said eagerly, "is he . . . do you have someone . . . like Emmett and Rosalie have each other?"

"Yes," she said with a visible rush of relief. "That's it exactly."

"But that's wonderful, really. I'm so happy for you!"

She seemed about to say something else but thought better of it. "Jasper and I found each other a long time ago, before we joined the rest of the family. He'd had a very rough time, and it was harder for him to adjust to the Cullen way of life. He still struggles a little, but it's way better than it used to be."

I smiled. It was nice to see that light in her expressive eyes. She obviously loved talking about him. "Is he as good looking as the other Cullens?"

"Of course," she said with mock conceit. "Carlisle has exquisite taste in children. Would you –" She hesitated a moment, half rising from the couch, then apparently made up her mind. "Stay here I'll be right back."

She flitted across the living room with all the grace of a ballerina and came back with a small picture in an ornate art nouveau frame. For a moment, she pressed it against her chest, as if reconsidering what she was about to do.

"I don't see how this can hurt," she said almost to herself. "This is a photo of me with my brothers when we were hunting in Denali." She paused and then thrust it quickly into my hand.

I had a brief impression of four figures against a stark white background before my gaze fastened on the face at the far left. I couldn't look away. A rushing sound started in my ears, like a harsh wind, blowing up out of nowhere, out of the darkness in my mind.

It was gathering up the fragile pieces of my half-constructed memory puzzle, tossing them about like dry leaves. In the middle, a deep black vortex threatened to swallow up everything round it, everything that was left of me. I leapt up off the couch, conscious that my hands were trembling and flung the picture away from me, as if the frame were white hot.

Alice caught it reflexively – in a blur of motion – before it could embed itself in the far wall. She whirled on me, her eyes wide with shock. "Bella, what is it? What's the matter?"

"No," I gasped, my voice raspy. "No, not . . . not that."

"Bella, please." She grasped my arms, pushing me back down on the sofa. "Talk to me. Tell me what you're feeling."

My whole body was shaking now. I seemed to have no more control over it than I did of my roiling thoughts. "He tried to kill me," I hissed. He tried to kill me – right here in this house! How . . . how could anyone survive that many bites?"

Through a haze of terror, I was dimly aware that her expression was stricken. She looked close to panic, but didn't release her grasp on my arms. "I know," she said in a soothing tone though her voice was tremulous. "I know. Please, just calm down. I am so, so sorry.

"Showing you the photo was a stupid thing to do, but it never occurred to me that your strongest memory of him might be the worst one. Carlisle was right. I shouldn't have pushed you. It's completely my fault, and I know you probably don't feel like talking, so would you let me do it. Please. Just let me try to explain and maybe you'll feel a little better."

I was concentrating on trying to bring my body back to its usual stillness. I shouldn't have to. Our kind didn't go to pieces like this, did they? My mind was hopeless, a complete mess again, but I could try to stop trembling. I could try to stop the outer signs of my turmoil that were frightening Alice so badly.

She released my arms and took both my hands in hers. "You're right, Bella. That's a terrible memory, and it's real, but it happened a long time ago – almost two years. You have to understand what Jasper's life was like before we met.

"I can see you remember parts of it. The awful parts. The scars all over his body. He fought against newborns and he trained others. His whole world was about blood and pain for a very long time, but he was strong enough finally to move away from that and look for a better way."

Her voice went on and on, but I couldn't let the words get into my head. It was too crowded, and what was already in there was all jumbled up.

"I said two years was a long time and in your short life, it has been. But for us, 150 years can seem like not much time at all. Until you, Jazz was our newest convert and the one who had the most trouble controlling his natural instincts. I don't know how much you remember about the actual incident, but he lost that control – just for a moment – when you accidentally cut yourself.

"It was reflex, Bella, and I'm not excusing it, but there's no way the rest of us would have let him hurt you. He's felt terrible about it ever since. And you've started to build a friendship. I know you're not remembering recent things that well right now, but please believe me when I say Jasper will never hurt you again. He'd defend you with his life. You don't need to be frightened."

I sensed Alice had slowed down and took my chance. "I'm okay, now, but if it's all right with you, I just need to be alone again for a while."

"Are you sure?" she said, her eyes still anxious. "Carlisle will be home soon. Maybe you should talk to him about what happened."

"No more talking. If you want to tell him about it feel free, but I just want to be somewhere quiet."

She didn't follow me to her room. Like last night, I stretched out full length on the bed and made my body go as still as possible. The trembling had stopped. That was good, but I wasn't about to start it up again by revisiting the feelings that the photograph had stirred up.

After a while I was aware of a car making its way down the long drive, and then someone coming in the front door. Carlisle, of course, and Alice was there to meet him, her musical voice almost shrill with concern rose above his deeper one. I tried not to listen to either of them. It wouldn't help to hear how irrationally I'd behaved.

I flipped over on my stomach and pulled one of Alice's pillows over my ears, humming to block out the words flying back and forth between them. Sometime later, another car approached. Emmett's jeep, I thought, adding a detail to the pictures of him that had started to take shape in my memory.

Everyone withdrew to another part of the house. They were obviously trying to keep their conversation from me, and I was only too happy to help. Alice peeked in on me a couple of times and once Carlisle did, but neither said anything when they saw my peaceful pose, closing the door quietly behind them, almost as if I'd really been asleep.

It was no use.

No matter how I tried to center myself, so I could work on the puzzle, the thought of that photo kept intervening. Why on earth had I reacted so irrationally? It was only a piece of paper, for crying out loud, but it had triggered such ghastly images of pain and panic that it might as well have been a lethal weapon. Was that what the forgetfulness was all about? A way to protect myself from buried memories too hideous to endure?

Arghh. I needed a distraction, but what? An image popped into my head, something I'd noticed earlier among the thousand details catalogued by my superior immortal brain. That part worked fine – the ability to notice everything, significant or not. The rest of it wasn't even keeping up with a human's brain, a dog's. Maybe I'd gotten stuck with some new prototype that hadn't had the bugs worked out yet.

I opened the bedroom door quietly, listening for voices. There was nothing. Esme would be with Carlisle, Emmett with Rosalie. Only Alice was unaccounted for. She must be totally absorbed in something not to notice that I was up and about. Good. I didn't want anyone fussing over me.

I slipped into the great room and found what I was looking for on an end table next to the couch. I scooped it up and retreated to Alice's room undetected. _Madame Bovary. _I was sure I'd been reading this. Why should that stick with me while I blanked on the people closest to me? Stupid beta version brain.

I turned on the reading lamp. As I removed the scrap of paper serving as a bookmark, two words caught my eye. It was my handwriting, so I ought to remember why I'd put them there, but I didn't.

_Rose's Song_. Weird. Was that short for Rosalie? What song? No reason I should understand it when nothing else was making sense. I laid the paper aside and started reading but found I had to go back several pages before I could pick up the story again.

When morning light finally seeped through the darkness, I stretched out on the bed again, so no one would know I'd been too much of a coward to lie there all night trying to remember.

Everybody seemed to think this day might bring a solution. I could only hope for all our sake's that, whatever that might be, it was on its way.

**Striding through the terminal at JFK that morning, I began to think my choice for Bella's gift was a good one. She can be difficult when it comes to presents. Rather than take a chance on something she would deem too extravagant, I'd decided to indulge a fantasy she'd mentioned.**

**Why she thought something so mundane was worth fantasizing about escaped me, but like so many of the notions in her beautiful little head, its very strangeness fascinated me.**

**Ordinarily, I would have had this kind of thing custom-made, but my time in New York was limited. An off-the-rack Versace along with a generous tip to the tailor had resulted in the suit I wore now, a deep black in a wool so light-weight that it felt almost like silk.**

**I kept my gaze forward, looking determinedly bored, though some of the thoughts flowing into my mind were actually amusing. Instead, of blocking the cacophony of voices that could assault me in such a public place, I let them come, and so far the reviews were encouraging.**

**I was perfectly aware that female heads were pivoting toward me from all corners of the crowded terminal. Little girls in t-shirts with cartoon characters on the front, gray-haired ladies and all ages in between. The gist seemed to be that the suit was–as Alice might say – working for me.**

**All of the thoughts were complimentary, some were baffling and a few made me tempted to look around, just to see if human women could think those things without blushing.**

**I didn't, of course, passing through security with the same indifferent expression, all the time wondering what "legs that go on forever" could possibly mean. The plane was already boarding, and I slid into my seat at the bulkhead without incident.**

**Immediately, the flight attendant decided I needed a drink. I refused politely the first time she asked, likewise the second when she upped the ante with French champagne.**

**Beside me, the young woman in the window seat was sorting through possible opening lines. It was my considered opinion that she should have kept searching, because the one she chose to speak aloud had its flaws.**

**"Are you traveling to Chicago?" she asked brightly, angling her body toward me.**

**I turned with a polite smile. "I believe we all are."**

**"Oh! Of course, it's not like we can get out along the way." For some reason, she blushed furiously. "What I meant was, is that your final destination?"**

**"No, I'm going on to Seattle."**

**"So am I! It's my first time, and I don't know a thing about what's fun to do there. Do you live in the area?"**

**She said it so hopefully, that I almost felt guilty about what I was going to say next. "I'm afraid not. It's only a brief visit – for a funeral."**

**"Oh, I am sorry." Her eyes slid over my dark clothing, and I hoped the suit didn't pick now to stop working. "You probably don't feel like talking then. I understand completely."**

**Doubtful, I mused, shutting my eyes and leaning my head back against the seat. Feigning sleep is the least rude way I know to fend off conversation when you're trapped at 30,000 feet. Of course, I would have to be narcoleptic to doze off this quickly, and the flight attendant knew it.**

**"Excuse me, sir," she said quietly. "We'll be serving in about an hour. I thought you might want to see a menu before you take your nap."**

**I opened one eye and gave her a small smile to soften the rejection. "I don't care for anything, thank you. I'd prefer not to be disturbed."**

**The menu, a single piece of paper, began fluttering in her hand. She drew in a quick breath and stared at me a moment longer than necessary. "Of course, sir. Whatever you wish."**

**I closed both eyes again. That had been a small smile, damn it. No teeth. But I could still hear Bella accusing me of dazzling people. Every time a female becomes flustered in my presence, she suspects it's my doing, when I'm fairly certain most of it can be put down to a subconscious fear of our kind.**

**Not that dazzling doesn't have its advantages. I have no compunctions about using it when I want something very badly, but it's not as if I sling it around indiscriminately.**

**When we'd gained full altitude, I put the seat back and loosened my tie, still second-guessing the purchase. The salesman insisted it was the perfect contrast to the somber black, but the bright red struck me as too flashy to be interesting.**

**"This is what is known as the power tie," he explained in a lilting Milanese accent. "Believe me, you will kill with such a look as this."**

**Great, I thought. If there's one thing I need, it's the ability to kill with my fashion accessories.**

**The passengers were quieting down, absorbed in their various media. Fewer voices were vying for my attention. I let go, and allowed the image I needed to form in my mind. For the better part of three days, I'd tried to keep it at bay, especially during the day when I needed my wits about me.**

**Even the nights, when I was alone in my hotel room, proved problematic. Thoughts of Bella never failed to fill me with a kind of wonder, that someone so normal and yet so extraordinary could want to spend eternity with me, and want it badly enough to risk her own life over and over again to attain it.**

**The last time I tried to express that to her, and it wasn't the first, she told me to "get over it," as if it were some bizarre delusion that made her worry for my sanity. I comfort myself with the knowledge that even Sigmund Freud declared himself baffled by women. The problem with thinking about Bella was that it made my loneliness without her that much more acute.**

**I'd always felt anxious when I was away from her – almost from the very first, but that was primarily a fear for her physical welfare. I had never met anyone so dedicated to her own destruction. In the beginning, I even wondered if her obvious interest in me wasn't a subconscious extension of that. Anyone bent on self-annihilation could do worse than take up with a vampire who finds the scent of her blood staggeringly attractive.**

**As usual she surprised me. As I got to know her, it became obvious that she was the exact opposite of what I had assumed. She was a survivor, tough in subtle ways that I couldn't help but admire. She simply had an unfortunate talent for attracting disaster.**

**That burden had been lifted from me. She was indestructible as the rest of us and more than capable of defending herself. What I felt now, being away from her, was loss, not just of her, but part of myself, the part that could truly enjoy each new experience. Nothing I found appealing had any meaning without her to share it.**

**I found myself wondering what she would think about the guitar-player bussing in the subway, the deco murals at Rockefeller Center. There were so many things she should see in Manhattan. I had no right to discourage that simply because of the ghosts that lay in wait for my return. They were my problem, my legacy, not hers, and I would put up with them in silence if it meant she could experience the wonders of the city as I once had.**

**I let the images become more specific, going back to our nights together. Pure pleasure washed over me at the memories, pleasure I had never expected to experience no matter how long I existed. In this, Bella had succeeded in surprising me beyond my power to comprehend.**

**For a long time after I'd agreed to her ridiculous bargain, I'd had only one thing on my mind – how I could manage not to hurt her. It was uppermost in my mind when I went to my brothers, seeking advice about the upcoming honeymoon. They were more than happy to discuss the subject, one-upping each other with tales of their sexual prowess.**

**Emmett thought he was shocking me. Actually, I was bored. It was not the mechanics that worried me. My reaction to Bella's closeness, especially after I'd allowed our kissing to be less constrained, left me with no doubt that I could figure it out. What I wanted from them was some sense of the guidelines. How would I know what was acceptable and not some perverse impulse of the monster inside me or my decades of unnatural denial?**

**"If it feels good, do it!" Typical Emmett, concise and unambiguous.**

**"But how will I know if it's right for her? Do I have to remind you, I can't hear her thoughts?"**

**"Welcome to our world, buddy," Jasper said with a smirk.**

**"That's not strictly true," I growled at him. "Alice knows what you're going to do before you do it. If she didn't like it, she'd slug you."**

**"Nah, Jazz would just send sweet vibes her way before she could connect." Emmett said. "Now me and Rose – we don't have any of your pansy-ass special abilities and we do just fine."**

**"Just who are you calling a 'pansy'?" Jasper demanded, and even if I hadn't already seen it in his mind, the southern gentleman tone in his voice was a sure sign he was about to start wailing on our brother.**

**"Hold it!" I snapped, stopping his forward motion with a glare. "You're supposed to be helping me here."**

**"Well, what can I say?" Emmett gave us a lop-sided grin, gesturing at his muscled chest. "Rose has got this. What's she gonna have to complain about?"**

**"You remove his arms and legs," I hissed at Jasper. "The head is mine."**

**"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Lighten up, little brother." Emmett threw a brawny arm around my shoulders. "Everything's going to be fine. You're about to have the time of your life. Bella's crazy nuts about you. You don't need to know what she's thinking to make your play. Pay attention to her body – it's gonna tell you everything you need to know."**

**That turned out to be a nugget of common sense, something I often find in the middle of Emmett's good-natured bull. I found myself drawn back to the night in the woods. The night when my self-control had been so poor that I'd ended up ravishing Bella in the mud. Not my finest hour. Yet I couldn't doubt that her pleasure in the madness had mirrored my own.**

**She might have lied to me, and said it hadn't bothered her when it did. She'd done that often enough in the past, excusing my more deplorable behavior at her own expense, but she met my every half-crazed move with a passion so intense, it's a wonder we didn't kill each other. And afterward, when she refused to let me go, I could feel the ripples of pleasure still echoing through her body.**

**This line of thought, while intensely pleasurable, was beginning to compromise my physical comfort. I opened my eyes just enough to make sure the attendants weren't admiring my suit or breathing their last as victims of my murderous neckwear. Not hovering. That was good. The woman beside me was asleep.**

**Reluctantly, I pulled my attention from Bella and focused on the other reason I couldn't get home fast enough. I'm told Renesmee looks like me, but whenever I picture her I see those deep chocolate eyes I'd never expected to gaze into again. The word "miracle" is thrown around with little meaning these days, but there's no other word for our daughter. She is beautiful, sweet and so astoundingly gifted that she makes other Cullens look almost ordinary.**

**I had never thought about being a father – ever. As a human, I was too young and too obsessed with the dreams of youth to think that far ahead. And once I was transformed, that option was gone forever. I didn't miss it, having never considered the possibility.**

**Bella's shocking pregnancy held no promises of joy, only the threat of utter destruction to everything I cherished most. So it was astounding how suddenly and completely I loved this unexpected little person. Within moments of our first connection, I knew I would give my life for hers, just as I never doubted I would do the same for Bella.**

**Now I understood how Charlie must have felt, watching his daughter go off again and again with someone who made her life miserable. Even without knowing how often I'd put her life at risk, he'd showed remarkable restraint. If I were Charlie, I would have shot me. It wouldn't have fazed me, of course, but I imagine he would have enjoyed it.**

**Our little family was perfection to me. When my feelings turned bitter about the short time we had to enjoy that perfection, I reminded myself how extraordinary it was that it existed at all. Unlike most parents, Bella and I knew there was happiness in Nessie's future, and that we would be there to see it.**

**I wondered if I'd be able to spot any overt changes in her since I'd been away. Carlisle assured me that her physical development had slowed considerably; however, I couldn't help dreading some unforeseen growth spurt. What if I arrived home to find she was already a young lady, looking at Jacob in a whole new way? My fists clenched on the armrests. No, that could not happen. I needed time – much more time – to get used to that scenario, inevitable though I knew it to be.**

**Things were progressing in that direction. So many elements had come together to make the transition easier. For one thing, Jake was no longer fixated on my wife. Amazing how that improved the atmosphere. For another, our alliance with the wolf pack was strong and only destined to become stronger with the bond between him and Renesmee.**

**Many times over the course of our relationship I had wanted nothing so much as to rip him limb from annoying limb. He had no idea how close I'd come on more than one occasion. I'd gritted my teeth and resisted the urge because it would have made Bella unhappy, and because I could never get past the fact that he was there for her when I had left her broken.**

**I learned to stop mentioning that to Bella. Her compassion makes her want to let me off the hook, as usual. "You thought you were doing the right thing," she insists. "You thought I would get on with my life and be fine."**

**Those arguments don't work against me, because they're mine. Those were the stupid things I told myself to justify a monumentally bad decision, and lives were almost lost because of it. She only survived it at all because of Jacob. It's not the kind of thing I forget.**

**If all that weren't enough, it was Jacob who kept Bella alive while I worked frantically to transform her. He did it with no hope left for himself and hating the idea of her becoming a vampire. He kept her heart beating during my feverish efforts to get as much of my venom into her as possible before it was too late. It's doubtful I could have carried that off alone.**

**So, yes, Jacob Black holds a very special place in my stony heart. He is my ally and fast becoming my friend. But, so help me, if I come home to find him flirting with my daughter, I will kick his furry ass into the next millennium.**

I was surprised to see that Carlisle was still home when I wandered out still dressed in my clothes from yesterday. He'd probably been waiting for me. "Good morning," I said, surprised anew at the lilting sound of my vampire voice. "I hope I didn't make you late for work."

"Not at all." Carlisle's smile was warm and dazzling as before. "Will you join me for a few minutes before I have to leave?" He patted the chair beside his at the long, polished table, and slipped the papers he'd been reading into a briefcase. "Alice tells me you had a rough time yesterday."

"It wasn't her fault," I assured him quickly, as I sat down. "I asked about her brothers, the others, I mean, besides Emmett and she showed me a photograph. I don't know why I got so emotional. It probably didn't have anything to do with the picture at all."

That last part was a lie. It was definitely the face in the picture that had triggered the frightening association, but they'd all been so kind to me, I couldn't hear myself saying, "One of your sons gives me a serious case of the creeps."

"I hope Alice convinced you that there's nothing to fear any more. We all care about you very much and that includes Jasper."

I nodded uncommitted. "Did you find any miraculous cures for the terminally scatter-brained?"

"Not yet," he said with a laugh, "but I'm anticipating something that I think will help immensely. In fact, I plan to come home early this afternoon to see how it all works out. Do you have any plans for the day?"

"I don't, but I'm sure Alice does."

"Yes, you can always count on Alice to have a plan." Carlisle rose, picking up his briefcase. "I'll see you then in just a few hours. I can almost promise you things will be better then."

It was hard not to believe him, he seemed so confident, so on top of things.

"Are you waiting for breakfast?" Alice said playfully, when she saw me sitting at the dining room table. I was glad to note my bizarre behavior last night hadn't left her permanently scarred.

"Well, I was, but the service in this place completely sucks."

"Oh, I am sorry. We have a special today on elk. Would you like me to kill it, or would you prefer to do the honors yourself?"

"Maybe I'll just get it to go," I said, managing a smile. "Somehow I don't think Esme would appreciate a fresh carcass on her antique table."

"You're such a thoughtful guest, Bella." She said bending to hug me. "I'm going to do some clothes shopping this morning – on the internet. Want to come with?"

"Not really. I was thinking maybe I'd like to read for a while."

I expected her to protest that I'd been reading most of the night, but apparently she'd never noticed. If she had, she'd probably insist I get busy trying to remember again. I just wanted to escape my thoughts, and reading had always been the easiest way to do that.

Emma Bovary was well into her downward spiral when Alice joined me again. I scarcely looked up when she sat down and began leafing through a fashion magazine. Fortunately, she didn't seem to be in the mood for talking either, though several times I looked up to find her staring off beyond the pages. Checking up on the family in her thoughts, I guessed.

I wondered if she was following some timetable created by the minds she was scanning, when several chapters later, she jumped up, announcing, "It's time to go outside."

"Outside, why?"

"The fresh air will do you good."

"In case you haven't noticed, it's raining."

"That's what freshens the air," she insisted.

"Maybe later. Dry feels kind of nice right now."

"Then we'll go for a drive. Really, Bella, you can't live with your nose in a book."

"Well, I'd like to try, okay? I'll let you know if it doesn't work out."

"What about your cactus? We were going to rescue it, remember?" She was starting to sound a little desperate.

"It's been sitting on my window sill for more than two years. I really doubt it's going to pick today to give up the ghost."

"You don't know that, Bella," she said, exasperated. "I know where we can pick up the kind of light it needs. We'll swing through town and get it on the way. Do you really want to be responsible for killing the poor little thing after dragging it away from its natural habitat to the wettest – "

"All right," I interrupted, slamming my book closed. Was she always this determined to have her own way? It probably wasn't even good for her to give in, but she'd finally pushed the right button. "All right. You win. I'm going."

Instantly, she was all smiles. "Oh, goody! What was it – my charming powers of persuasion?"

"Afraid not," I said, getting up. "Just good, old-fashioned guilt."

"The gift that keeps on giving!" she said, happily, and pushed me toward the door.


	12. Interplay II

Chapter 12

Interplay II

**Our stopover at ORD was mercifully brief. When I boarded the second plane to take the same seat I'd had before, the one I always requested because it allowed me to stretch my legs, there was a different woman in the seat next to mine. Perhaps the first had found my company too depressing. This one wore a lovely lavender sari. Her eyes lit up when she saw me.**

**To my intense relief she broke into a flustered apology for not speaking English. I gave her a smile, puzzled but pleasant, and she subsided. Deceptive behavior on my part, but not precisely rude, since she had no way of knowing that I speak Hindi. After a brief skirmish with the new flight attendant, I settled back to endure the last leg of my journey in solitude. **

**Flying was a necessity, but it irritated me anyway, not being in control, having my speed determined by outside forces. Thoughts of Bella and Renesmee would only add to that frustration, but my new seat mate had reminded me of an alternative. **

**I had come across meditation in the 1960s when Eastern religions began to influence popular culture in the Western world. I was drawn to anything that had the potential to give me some peace from the constant chatter in my head, and it worked. **

**Carlisle was fascinated. He tried it himself and felt the restfulness helped sharpen his thinking. Esme, of course, was quick to join in, but the others were a lost cause. **

**Carlisle did try to persuade them. Emmett claimed he already "zoned out" frequently, and none of us could argue with that. Alice was unwilling to shut off – even for a short time – the special ability that she regarded as crucial to our survival. Jasper didn't feel he could afford to relax his tenuous hold on abstention. **

**Rosalie really had no excuse. Nobody needed to relax more than she did. I would have gotten down on my knees and begged her, if I thought it would do any good, but she was pig-headed as always.**

"**Think of it this way," Carlisle told her. "Our bodies are designed for two settings – complete immobility and intense speed for defense and catching our prey. Now, those of us who've tried to assimilate – to any degree – into human society have had to go against that. We've learned to walk like humans, to sit and move around restlessly like humans, even to adapt the way we speak. It's as if we're attempting to drop a five-speed transmission into a car designed for only two gears."**

"**So?" Rosalie said with her usual gracious charm.**

"**So, that's very stressful on our bodies and our minds. Meditation can help you soothe that stress and feel more . . . harmonious."**

"**What, are we supposed to be hippies now?" Rosalie said with distaste. "Well, it's not happening. The fashions are atrocious, long, shapeless dresses, Birkenstocks. Please! I could go with the mod look – mini-skirts and go-go boots," she added with an admiring glance at her own shapely legs, "but why would I want to go out of my way to try and look frumpy? Not my scene. I'm fine the way I am."**

**I nearly destroyed Esme's kitchen counter, trying to hold back the scathing remarks I wanted to hurl her way. Only Rose could take a conversation about spiritual growth and turn it to the superficial. "Fine" the way she was? Was she insane as well as unforgivably insensitive?**

**I could hear Carlisle's frustration. Like me, he'd considered Rose the one of us most in need of some mellowing influence, but, of course, he didn't show that to the others. **

"**Just think about it," he said casually, patting Rosalie's knee. "If you change your mind, I'll be happy to teach you." **

**Smart man, my father. If he'd offered to have me teach her, she would have gone into full Harpy mode. I took my cue from him, and released my grip on the marble countertop. Esme's kitchen would live to see another useless day.**

**So with the 767's engines providing a soothing drone, I focused inward, pushing away my own thoughts as well as those of the other passengers. I would surround myself with nothingness until I could get to the ones who meant everything to me.**

I followed Alice dutifully out to the Porsche, and soon we were flying down the driveway. I trusted she could see if someone was about to approach from the other direction in time to take evasive measures. The windows were open, allowing the passing wind to emphasize our speed. It felt good, a thrilling physical sensation to block out the turmoil inside.

Alice scarcely slowed as we approached a tricky bend in the drive. Apprehension sprang up unexpectedly in my chest. I wasn't worried about her crashing, rather it was the odd sight suddenly springing into my peripheral vision – the impression of robed figures, all dressed in red, moving along beside us, but far more slowly. I turned my head to look, but saw only the moss-draped trees, all relentlessly green, all solidly in place.

I must have made a sound, because Alice looked over at me. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine – just a moment of déjà vu or something."

She didn't question me further, which was good because I really didn't know what I'd meant by that. We parked in front of Charlie's, and found the key under the eaves. The house was already starting to smell a little musty in his absence. Alice threw open some windows and surveyed the kitchen, finally opening the refrigerator door. It was nearly empty except for my dad's collection of vintage condiments.

"Would you look at this?" Alice exclaimed, waving a jar of mayonnaise she'd pulled from the shelf. "I don't have a single article of clothing that's as old as this mayo. It's disgusting. It's downright dangerous." She began pulling out more jars and bottles, lining them up on the counter. "We have to save the poor man from himself, Bella. Where's a trash bag?"

I pointed to the cabinet under the sink, and she soon had all the offending items trussed up and taken out to the garbage can. "I suppose we'll have to replace them," she mused. "And he's going to need some actual food when he gets home."

"I don't think he'll come home unless he's caught enough fish to feed everyone in Forks."

"But he's got to have some veggies. He can bake a potato can't he? I know, let's make a list and we'll run to the store, so he won't have to when he gets home."

"Alice, we just got here," I protested. "Besides, I can't show up in town. I don't have any of that stuff to make me look less freaky."

"So you stay in the car. Honestly, Bella, to hear you talk you'd think the man knew how to take care of himself. Now what is he physically capable of cooking that won't burn the house down?"

"Fish?" I offered, but I knew there was no arguing with Alice when she was on a mission, so I located a pencil and paper and we made a list. At her instructions, I grabbed up a pair of Charlie's aviator sunglasses and a scarf on our way out.

"Now just sit here and think happy thoughts." Alice instructed me, as she got out of the car in the supermarket parking lot.

"I feel ridiculous," I informed her from my scrunched down position in the passenger seat. "What am I – one of _America's Most Wanted_?"

"Don't be so negative, Bella. Pretend you're a glamorous movie star, hiding from the paparazzi."

"Hrumph," I said, sinking down farther in the seat. That kind of fantasy might float Rosalie's boat, but it sounded like one of the circles of Hell to me. Right now, I'd just be grateful to feel like myself, to know where I fit in the frustrating picture puzzle that seemed to be missing its most crucial pieces.

**When we landed at Sea-Tac, I wondered if I could speed to the parking lot so fast that no one saw me at all. It's not the kind of chance we're supposed to take, so I clenched my teeth and gave my impression of a human in a hurry, but once in the Volvo, all bets were off. **

**I screeched onto the highway, threading the car through traffic at a rate that I was confident made it impossible for anyone to catch my license number. A shower of mud hit the windshield as I whipped into our driveway. Ordinarily, I avoided sullying the Volvo's shiny finish, but the car would get over it. **

**The three miles to the house seemed more like 30. Would Bella be waiting at the cottage? The instant gratification that implied nearly made me take out an ancient hemlock. More likely, she'd be with the others, anxious to hear how things had gone in New York. I searched their minds, now so close, but they were strangely opaque, almost as if they were trying to keep me out. The car lurched to a stop, and I took the front steps in one leap, reminding myself not to wrench the door off its hinges. **

**It was almost like hitting an invisible wall. The atmosphere in the room was charged and yet oddly unreadable. They were still trying to block me out – Esme and Carlisle, Rosalie, Emmett, and Jasper. They stood like so many statues staring at me as if I was a Molotov cocktail flung into their midst.**

Alice wasn't long in the store, a fact I attributed less to her vampire speed, which I thought she was probably very careful about, than her prodigious skills of organization. She really ought to be planning parties or weddings or intergalactic conquest.

Once back at Charlie's, I wiped out the refrigerator and filled it while Alice put things away in the cabinets. I slid some frozen vegetables and half a dozen microwavable dinners into the freezer. Alice had wanted to buy more, but I reminded her about the mass quantities of fish and she scaled down her list.

When I turned around, she was still again, gazing at nothing. It must be frustrating, I thought, for her to see what everyone was about to do, yet have no control over it.

She blinked and looked back at me. "So where's the sick relative?" she asked.

I led her upstairs, still imagining how hard it must be not using her natural efficiency to keep everyone in her family on the right track. "I feel sorry for your other brother," I said.

Behind me Alice stopped. "Why do you say that," she asked after a noticeable pause.

"I'm just thinking, how your whole family seems to be paired off," I answered resuming the climb. "It must be hard for him being the – what," I counted on my fingers as I reached my room, "a seventh wheel?"

She didn't say anything, going to sit on my bed, where she made a little bounce. "It's been so long since I've been in your room. It's a little like old times, sitting here."

"I mean being an only child can be lonely, I guess. It never much bothered me, because I'd never known anything else, but to be part of a big family and yet alone – that would be really sad."

"It used to be." Her voice was very soft and there was that look in her eyes again, as if she was expecting something –from me.

I was about to ask her why it was no longer sad, when I caught a glimpse of the open closet door. "Alice, where are all my clothes? You know, don't you?" I was suddenly certain she did. She was my best friend, after all, and she wasn't suffering some weird memory loss.

"You took them with you . . . when you moved out," she answered, watching me as if wondering if she'd said too much.

"Why did I do that?" It made sense now – my things being gone, Charlie's neglected refrigerator. There was no response from Alice, so I sorted through the few certainties in my own head, looking for an answer.

"Is it because – was it to give Charlie some space in case he and Sue Clearwater –"

Again, Alice said nothing. So why did I get the distinct impression that it wasn't the answer she'd wanted?

"I've been staying at your house, haven't I?" I guessed. "That's why I know where everything is, why everybody's so used to me."

"More or less," she said, still cautious. There was that strange look on her face again, half wary, half hopeful.

Really, for two cents, I'd give her a swift kick. Wasn't she supposed to be helping me here, not doling out ambiguous answers? I sighed in exasperation, replaying the few little tidbits she'd thrown my way today. There was a statement she'd made that left an opening to be filled. Something she'd said, something I hadn't responded to.

"Alice, what did you mean when you said your other brother "used" to be lonely?"

**I stared back at my family. **

**"What?" It was a demand not a question. "Where is she?"**

"**Bella's down at Charlie's with Alice. She'll be back shortly." It was Carlisle who had stepped forward. His tone was both authoritative and soothing. **

**I didn't like it.**

"**Alice must have seen that I was home," I said, suddenly realizing that she was keeping her thoughts away from me, as they all were.**

"**I'm sure they'll be here as soon as they can. If you'll just be pa–"**

"**There's something you're not telling me," I interrupted, unable to keep the growl from my voice. "Do it – now."**

"**I will," Carlisle said quickly, raising his hands in an appeasing gesture. "Sit down, son, please and let me explain." His request didn't move me one iota from my rigid stance. My gaze was the one designed to demoralize our cornered prey. **

**Carlisle didn't push his request, but he doesn't intimidate easily either. He placed his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to acknowledge the sincerity in his eyes. "Bella's perfectly fine physically – of course. She's simply been experiencing some forgetfulness. We're not sure why or what caused it, and that's been perplexing for her, but all signs indicate she's getting over it."**

"**That doesn't explain why she isn't here," I said, refusing to drop my relentless stare.**

"**That was for your sake," Carlisle said, taking his hands from my shoulders. "We didn't want you to see her unprepared in case she seemed confused and you . . . overreacted. Once she sees something or someone, the memories come back to her. I have every reason to believe she'll be herself again now that everyone's here, but it's important that she does this at her own speed. Forcing the situation is likely to do more harm than good – that's the consensus of everyone I've spoken with in the last two days."**

"**Two days?" The words burst out of me like bullets. "This has been going on for two days and not a one of you thought to call me?" My black gaze swept over them, catching varying degrees of discomfort. It was only Esme's stricken look that added a twinge of shame to my building anger. **

**She hurried to me then, putting her arms around my frozen body. "Oh, sweetheart," she murmured. "Please don't be upset. Just listen to Carlisle. He's been searching around the clock for ways to help Bella. He knows the best way to approach her."**

"**I think I know how to approach my own wife," I said, unable to keep the venom out of my voice. "And I'm doing it now."**

**I was at the door again before anyone else could make a move. This time I didn't care if I ripped it off its hinges. **

"**Don't do it, Edward," Carlisle shouted behind me.**

**_Try and stop me_, I snarled inwardly and hit the far side of the driveway in one jump.**

"**Renesmee!" **

**The word cracked like a whip over my head; instantly all my forward momentum lashed itself into a knot, riveting me to the spot. I turned my head to glare at Carlisle. "What about Renesmee? Isn't she with Bella?"**

**His face was expressionless, but the words he spoke were crisp and unambiguous. "We can't let her see Bella."**

**A second ago, I thought nothing could pull me back into that house. Now my rage propelled me instantaneously, across the drive, up the steps and into Carlisle's face, backing him into the foyer. "You're telling me that while my daughter was without a father you saw fit to keep her from her mother?" **

**I was literally seeing red, my vision so clouded that I had to remind myself this was my creator on whom I was directing so much fury. I was dimly aware that the others had gathered close around the two of us, ready to step in. **

"**Bella hasn't asked for Renesmee," he said in the same even tone. "It was Esme who took her up to the lake, so that wouldn't become a problem. Think about it, Edward, if Bella were to hesitate, even for an instant, in embracing Nessie, it could be very traumatic for one so young. She's intelligent enough to sense the change, and too immature to process it. None of us wants to see her upset unnecessarily."**

"**Are you saying Bella could forget her own daughter?" I said in disbelief.**

"_**You**_** just did." This from Rosalie, her lip curled in disdain. "You come in here all pissed off, refusing to listen to the people who have actually been putting up with this sh- situation, and you never once ask about your child."**

**I closed my eyes, summoning every ounce of self-control I had left. No, I wasn't going to cause physical harm to my father who, however misguided, always had my best interests at heart. But Rosalie – oh, Rosalie. **

_**Step to me now, Rose, and so help me the monster gets unleashed.**_

**When I opened my eyes, Emmett had his arms around his wife, whether to protect her from me or keep her from making things worse, I didn't know – or care. I had to get focused on what was important again. "But Nessie's well?"**

"**She's perfect." Esme's arms were around me again. "We've been keeping her distracted with other activities. She had a wonderful time at the cabin with Charlie and the Quileutes. Of course, she's been asking about you, and it will be the best thing in the world for her if you're there when she wakes up from her nap."**

**Finally, something that actually fit into the homecoming I'd imagined. I felt my temper ebbing. It must have showed. I could sense the others relaxing a little. A wave of tranquility that Jasper had no doubt been trying to get through to me since I walked in finally became noticeable, if not persuasive.**

"**Sounds like a rock band," Emmett joked. "Charlie and the Quileutes. Nice suit, by the way, bro. Going to a funeral?"**

**Not if I can hold it together, I thought darkly, forcing my hands to unclench. **

**Esme continued to stand beside me, gently rubbing my arm, while I forced myself toward calmness. After a moment, my vision cleared and I took a deliberate breath, letting it out with a sigh. "Better?" she asked softly. **

**I nodded and put my arms around her burying my face in her soft hair. "I'm sorry, mom," I whispered.**

"**I know. That's what we do when we're frightened. It's natural." She squeezed me and stepped away to get a better look. "Wow, you look extremely handsome. Bella is going to be thrilled."**

**I managed half a smile for her. "Mothers have to say that."**

"**Well, no mother ever had a better excuse for saying it." She insisted. "It's all been arranged so you can have time with Nessie before Alice brings Bella back. It will give the two of you a chance to feel normal again, and that's all Bella needs, I'm sure – just the assurance that everything's as it should be. Okay?"**

**I nodded. I still felt the best way was simply to go to my wife. Did they really not understand the depth of the connection between us? Once she was in my arms, the rest of the world would take care of itself. **

**I was fully aware, however, that if I possessed any virtues, patience was not likely to be among them. I'd been working on that one a long time – with some success, finding that if the goal was desirable enough and seemingly unattainable I could summon the will power to bide my time, probably out of sheer stubbornness. **

**It was the unexpected, slipping under my guard, that tended to short-circuit the process. Action before thought – seldom a good idea. What they were saying made sense. It was important to be sure our little girl felt secure, and if that meant delaying my reunion with her mother for an hour or so, I could handle that. We had eternity, after all.**

**Esme was still watching me, almost as if she could see the path my thoughts had taken. It was no coincidence that she was the one who typically approached me when I was wired like this. There was no one I'd be less likely to unleash my fury on than the gentlest Cullen, no one I'd more regret hurting if I did. Did the others really think I hadn't noticed their strategy? This time my smile was less forced.**

"**Okay?" she said again. "You know, Nessie's likely to sleep for a while. Do you want to tell us about your trip while we wait? Once Bella's here, I know you'll have better things to think about, so it might be nice to have business out of the way."**

**The whole problem of the forged sketch had taken a nosedive in my priorities, but once again, she was right. Her argument had definite appeal. The others had already retreated to the dining room, and the two of us joined them there. **

**Shooting Carlisle what I hoped was an apologetic look, I took my seat. He gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head, so I assumed he had forgiven my outburst. **

**I took them through a step-by-step account of the interviews in New York. I had spoken with historians at the Metropolitan and an art assessor, as well as a forgery expert and the investigative team whose job it was to recover stolen artworks.**

"**The first told me that there had been three cases in the last decade in which paintings were stolen, replaced with forgeries that escaped detection until the trail had grown cold. Two of those were in museums, one in Manhattan, one in Philadelphia. The other was in a private collection."**

"**Were you able to get the particulars?" Carlisle asked.**

**My reply was to draw a leather folder out of my jacket pocket. "Everything – dates, evidence, possible suspects, though none of them has shown much promise so far. That's on the two thefts that were public knowledge. The other one – the investigator wouldn't talk about."**

"**You couldn't lean on him a little?" Emmett asked. "Show him some of that badass 'tude you use on your family?"**

"**Emmett," Esme said warningly.**

"**I thought it was best to maintain cordial relations with the police," I said dryly. "We may need them again in the future. And I never said I didn't get the information. The other partner was more cooperative."**

**A slow smile crept across Jasper's face. "It was a woman, wasn't it?" he said. "You dazzled it out of her."**

"**That's what I'm talking about," Emmett crowed. "Give me five, bro." **

**Rosalie smacked his hand down. "God, Edward," she scowled. "They ought to lock you up."**

"**Thank you. Rosalie," I said, pleasantly. "It's nice to see you too."**

"**What are you talking about, babe?" Emmett persisted. "The boy's got skills. If he doesn't use them, he's liable to lose his edge. We Cullen men have a reputation to uphold, you know what I'm saying? Give me five!" This time he succeeded in connecting with Jasper, while Rose folded her arms in disgust.**

**I pushed the papers toward Carlisle. "I have more information in the car, if you'd like to discuss it after you see what's there." **

"**Terrific, Edward. You did a good job, and now I suspect you'd like to see your daughter. Jasper, would you mind going with your brother?"**

**I started to protest, but decided against it. Carlisle had a right to be cautious about my temper right now, and Jasper was good insurance.**

I'd struck a nerve. I knew it at once, though Alice still appeared composed. "Bella, I wish you'd stop calling him my 'other brother.' He has a name, you know."

Did he?

I thought back to that first night. Carlisle and Alice talking. There had been other names mentioned, but my attention had been so focused inward that I hadn't really heard them. Jasper. Yes, that must have been one of them. The one that Alice was in love with. Had she actually said that – that they were in love? I couldn't be certain, but I had no doubt that it was true.

I hadn't taken in much of what she said when I reacted so badly to the photograph, but her impassioned defense of him told me that much. I rummaged around in the cluttered toy box that my brain had become, but I couldn't come up with another name.

"I'm sorry, Alice. I simply don't remember. Can you please just tell me – it's only a word, after all."

Her hesitation this time was brief. "It's Edward. His name is Edward."

"Edward." I repeated the name slowly. If it had been mentioned by Alice or Carlisle, it must have been one of those imaginary birds that refused to light in my tumbling brain. No pictures came to mind, no feelings. It was, after all, just a word, and yet the way my tongue and lips moved when I tried it out made me think it was something I'd said many times before. Surely, that was an encouraging sign.

That took me back to the opening waiting to be filled. "Alice, is there something going on between me and your brother – Edward? Am I part of the reason you said he isn't lonely anymore?"

"Yes!" she said and there was no mistaking the relief in her voice.

"Are we like a . . . a couple or something?"

She nodded furiously, pressing her lips together as if all kinds of comments were fighting to get out.

A couple? What did that mean exactly? It could mean so many different things. Were we completely dysfunctional, like my dad and Renee? Some sort of on again, off again thing like Mike and Jessica? Or were we more like the other Cullens? The idea was too good to be true. Could I really interest someone from that amazing family? Could I possibly have anything that would make him happy?

That was crazy, I decided. If I shared deep feelings with someone, wouldn't I remember? Why would I forget what surely would have to be the one of the most important relationships in my life? But then hadn't everyone said I was only able to remember when I actually confronted the reality that created my memories? Was that why the Cullens seemed to think that today would be the day everything went back to normal?

"Alice, do you – "

"It's time," she interrupted, looking like a switch had gone off in her brain. "We can go now, Bella. Back to our house. Don't forget the cactus."

I wasn't ready. This was the first time I'd understood what the Cullens thought would bring me back to normal. The idea was so new, so crazy. That I was about to see someone who I couldn't remember at all and yet would bring everything back into balance.

What if they were wrong? What if I was wrong and that isn't what they had meant at all? I felt like I was about to take an exam, essential to my future, but I hadn't studied a single page of the text. I didn't even know which class I was in danger of flunking.

The panic must have shown on my face, because Alice grabbed me in a quick hug, almost squishing the poor little cactus. "Don't worry, Bella. Just take it one step at a time. It's going to be ridiculously easy, you'll see."

"Do you see it, Alice? I mean in your mind. Do you see everything working out?"

"I can't see you, Bella, not the way your mind's been, but I can see Edward and his intentions. Trust me; he always gets what he wants."

**As the two of us started up the stairs, Jazz put his hand on my shoulder. "You're really rockin' the Armani, I gotta say. Bella's going to like it."**

"**It's Versace!" a strident voice corrected him from below.**

**Jasper grimaced. "Is she right?" he whispered.**

"**Unfortunately, yes." I answered, also in a whisper, as if we were small boys trying to escape a particularly nasty teacher. "I prefer it when Rosalie's wrong, too."**

**Renesmee was fast asleep, curled into a ball, her ringlets glowing even in the dim glow of the night light. She appeared the same as when I left her, for which I was thankful. I bent over her, breathing in her unique, light aroma, daring to reach out and brush my fingers softly against her cheek. **

**She didn't stir. **

**The anger had dissipated, and I didn't think it was Jasper's doing. Just being in the same room with her again put so many things in perspective.**

**I thought about the nights I'd watched her mother sleeping, lost in fascination, but always aware that what I was doing would seem wrong to anyone who discovered it. This was different. I not only had a right to be here, but a duty, and I embraced them both. **

**I could hear her heart beat and the tiny breaths she took. She didn't talk in her sleep, like Bella, but then she preferred not to talk at all. The things she showed us in her own unique way were often too complex for her to express in words. **

**I was content simply to watch over her. There couldn't be anything seriously wrong with Bella, not when she'd succeeded in bringing this extraordinary creature into the world. **

Alice hurried me down the stairs to the waiting car, and hit the accelerator, pressing us both back in our seats like a couple of nervous astronauts. I wished she would slow down. I needed time to assimilate the new possibilities that I'd only just discovered.

I could see now how all the Cullens' hope for my recovery was based on this encounter – with a stranger. Not a stranger, I scolded myself inwardly, someone I cared about, someone who cared about me. I just needed to stay calm and let nature take its course.

This time, if there were red-robed figures, following the path of the Porsche, I wasn't aware of them. The trees could have been missing, too. I was trying hard to feel centered and focused and at peace. I thought it was working, though without a heartbeat to slow as a result, I couldn't be completely sure.

Alice made short work of the three-mile drive to the house. There was another car in front of the house. But whose? I couldn't imagine a Cullen treating a car like that. It was completely covered in mud, only a tiny glint of silver shone where the beleaguered sun struck it.

A strange sensation coursed through me, but before I could analyze it, Alice had swerved the car into the garage and lowered the door behind us.

**I heard the unmistakable growl of the Porsche before it even left the main road and Alice's thoughts, giddy with anticipation as they got closer to the house. When the garage door closed, it took an effort not to use my power, the power to be with Bella in mere seconds, to pull her into my arms and feel that uncanny sense of rightness that enveloped us whenever we were together. **

**I was going to do this Carlisle's way. He probably thought I was too hot-headed to have heard anything he said, but I had, and he was right. It was a frightening thing to feel you weren't in control of your own mind. I'd been there. Someone in that state should be approached gently. Better to be patient.**

**I glanced at Jasper, still keeping his quiet vigil in the far corner. In response, a wave of soothing energy drifted throughout the room, and I nodded my thanks before turning back to my sleeping child, the picture of serenity. **

"We'll go up the back way, and we can drop Mr. Cactus off at his new home."

"Your car's really dirty too, Alice." I pointed out, as I followed her out the door.

"I know. I'll get Rosalie and Emmett to clean it right away."

"Rosalie washes cars?" Somehow I couldn't picture sophisticated Rosalie letting herself get that dirty.

"Cars are like Rosalie's babies." Alice explained, opening the door to the greenhouse. "She'll do anything to pamper one. And Emmett – well, he just enjoys seeing Rose get wet and soapy. Now we'll set this light up where it's the least humid," she said, taking the cactus from me and positioning it under the lamp. "You should check on it frequently to see if this is working."

"Thanks Alice," I said.

"No problem. Always happy to help a fellow outcast." She petted the plant, right on its sharpest needles and turned, taking my hand. "Now let's see if we can't make you all better, too. Okay?"

I nodded and allowed myself to be pulled up the steps and through the back door. As if on cue, the other Cullens converged on the living room as we entered.

**I wondered if she was dreaming. If she was, it must not be frightening or unpleasant. She hardly stirred.**

**After a while, her long lashes fluttered against the curve of her cheek. She turned her head, and blinked at me several times. I waited as a smile slowly bloomed on her rosy mouth. **

**Wordlessly she sat up, fast, and put her arms around my neck. I gathered her in, hugging her tight. "Yes, I'm really here," I answered her silent question, "and I'm not going away again. I missed you, baby."**

"**Nessie-Wessie," she corrected out loud and pulled back to smile at me again, her perfect, angelic smile.**

A quick glance showed me nothing but familiar faces.

"You look like you feel better this afternoon," Carlisle greeted me.

"Yeah," I nodded, "I guess I do." How could I not? Alice's optimism was hard to resist.

"So you up for a rematch?" Emmett grinned, flexing an impressive forearm in my direction in a gesture I didn't understand.

"A rematch of what?"

"The big event. Juiced-up newborn versus the Fist of Doom. Remember you, me and the ex-boulder?"

I opened my mouth to ask him what in the world he was talking about, when an image popped fully formed into my mind. The two of us on either side of a huge rock, arms straining against each other. And me … actually winning!

Finding another memory, so easily, gave me a giddy pleasure. I cocked one eyebrow at him. "That's funny. I never would have taken you for the masochistic type."

Emmett's grin widened. "That's what I like to hear. Bring it on, short stuff."

"Ignore him, Bella," Rosalie interjected. "It's been a while. He's just hoping the super strength thing will have faded, so he can regain the title."

"Hey, whose side are you on, babe? You're supposed to be in my corner. My manhood's at stake here, you know."

"Oh, sweetie," Rosalie purred, leaning into him. "Your manhood has never been in question."

"Both of you, leave him alone," Alice said imperiously. "There are cars downstairs seriously in need of a good scrubbing. We can't have Emmett wasting his strength."

"You up for that, Rose – a little rub-a-dub-dub action?" Emmett pulled her closer.

"Always," she breathed in his ear. I wondered if Rosalie did all her chores dressed like she was now – in a curve-hugging sheath and jeweled stilettos. "We'll get on it as soon as we're done here."

"Then we've got time to throw down," Emmett said to me with a look that was all challenge.

"No one is throwing anything down in this house," Esme interrupted, smoothly. "Bella, Charlie sends his best. He says to tell you they're all having a great time."

"Oh, how was your visit?"

"Well-l-l," Esme drew the word out with a little grimace. "At first I thought I'd made a terrible mistake in just showing up like that. They were polite, and your father was very welcoming, of course, but Billy Black kept watching me out of the corner of his eye as if he expected me to turn him into a toad any minute. And Sue made it clear that she didn't like me."

"Impossible," Carlisle declared. He put his arms around her waist from behind and gave her a squeeze.

"You are highly prejudiced," she accused, laughing up at him. "The tension eased when a few of the boys showed up. Seth is such a sweetheart, a natural-born peacemaker. And then everyone was so enchanted watching Nes –"

She broke off whatever she'd been about to say and began again, "Watching the young people play. I know Sue's had a very hard time of it, so I tried to stay out of her way and still make myself useful. I just wanted to show her that I wouldn't bite. She did seem a lot warmer towards me by the time I left. Maybe she was just happy I was leaving." Esme laughed again. "All in all it felt like a step in the right direction."

"We couldn't hope for a better ambassador of goodwill," Carlisle assured her. He looked at me. "What have you and Alice been up to today?"

"**I missed you, Nessie-Wessie," I whispered and hoped that Jasper wasn't paying attention. As advanced as she was, our daughter delighted in certain childish rituals. One of them was insisting I call her by this nickname when we were alone. Apparently, she'd missed the fact that I could get in trouble for even saying half of it, although I'd notice Bella slipping once or twice and almost using it herself.**

**I sat on the bed, pulling her into my lap, so she could lay her dimpled hand on my face. The first thing she showed me was her mother, which came as no surprise except that Bella looked perfectly normal, happy and attentive. I was so caught up in the image that it was a moment before I realized that Nessie hadn't seen Bella since her strange affliction had set in. This was a memory from before. **

**Her next thought was that something was wrong with momma. I cradled her face in my hands, determined to wipe away the anxiety that puckered her expression. "Yes, of course, I'm going to fix it." I told her silently. "Everything will be just like it was."**

**She smiled sleepily, and I held her until she drifted off again, when I tucked her back into bed. **

"We went to the supermarket – well, Alice did. She was worried about Charlie having something to eat when he got home – something without gills. We restocked his refrigerator."

"That was very thoughtful of you two," Esme said.

Alice, who'd been flitting around the room, seemingly filled with nervous energy, appeared at my side. "We have a new resident in the greenhouse," she said, "Bella's little cactus she brought from Phoenix, and I told her about the plans for the fabulous conservatory."

Esme rolled her eyes. "Have you ever noticed, Bella, that when we Cullens get an idea it has a tendency to keep growing until it's so over the top, we have to work twice as hard to pretend we're merely human?"

"You mean like the great cars and the designer clothes?" I guessed.

"Exactly. I mentioned something about enlarging our little greenhouse, and the next thing you know everyone's put their two-cent's worth in about what it should be like. Now I feel like I'm designing the Crystal Palace. I'll show you the plans some time if you like."

**Sitting on Nessie's bed, I closed my eyes, savoring the knowledge that everything I cared about was within my reach, safe under my protection. Better than that, I could hear Bella's voice, and it didn't sound stressed or frightened. She'd temporarily forgotten about arm-wrestling with Emmett but seemed to remember again with only a little prompting.**

**What she needed now was tenderness, a soft voice and a sympathetic ear. We'd figure it out together in a reassuring embrace that would dispel her fears and bring us both the extraordinary healing peace we inevitably found in each other.**

**At last, Alice was satisfied that this would be a good time. I looked at Jasper and he grinned. We crept quietly out the door and headed toward the sound of voices, like a couple of black sheep eager to be welcomed back into the fold.**

"I'd love to see your plans, Esme," I said, careful not to look at Alice.

"You probably don't even know what the Crystal Palace was, do you, Bella?" Esme mused. "I sometimes forget we weren't all around in the 1930s."

"I sort of just missed the '30s," I joked feebly.

"Well, that's when it burned down," she continued. "But it was built in London almost 100 years earlier. They called it one of the wonders of the modern world. You've heard about Seattle's world's fair in 1962?"

"Missed the '60s, too, but that's where the Space Needle came from, right?"

"Right. Well, the Crystal Palace was built for a world exposition in the 1850s. It was enormous, filled with exhibits and inventions. It even had indoor toilets that cost a penny to use. The British still say that sometimes – that they have to 'spend a penny' when they go to the loo. Fortunately, nobody's requested that in our plans, but it's shaping up to be pretty elaborate."

We'd all been standing around, not sitting like humans would. In fact, it reminded me of cocktail party scenes in old movies, everyone on their feet, talking and mingling, only without a cocktail in sight.

Now suddenly the whole scene froze into a tableau. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. I was instantly aware that all eyes were focused beyond me. A thrill of apprehension shot up my spine. Was this it? The moment they'd all been counting on to set everything right again?

I froze, too. It might help to breathe, but I couldn't seem to do it. My senses were sharpened though. I could feel the tension in the room like a tangible force. The hair on the back of my neck seemed charged with electricity, and I knew someone was standing behind me. I closed my eyes, trying to quell the rush of nerves. It seemed like minutes, but was probably only a second or two, till I gathered my courage and turned around.

He was standing just a few feet away, and I didn't hesitate, didn't question anything. I just flew to him and threw my arms around his neck. "I'm so glad you're back," I gasped, pressing my face into his marble chest.

His arms came around me, but he didn't speak. We stood like that for a long minute, while I waited for the voice that would tell me this was where I belonged.

"It's good to see you too, Bella," he said finally, in the mellifluous tones peculiar to our kind.

His long arms still encircled my waist, but they weren't clutching me tight. Hadn't he been longing for this reunion, too? His embrace might have been no more than a response to my closeness – a reflex action. What had I done wrong? Another reflex – wondering what clumsy misstep I'd made to turn a happy occasion awkward.

Wasn't this what I was expected to do? Wasn't this how I would find my way back? Stop over-thinking it, I told myself. Just go with the emotion.

"Bella, what are you doing?" It was Alice's voice, cutting through the atmosphere in the room, still thick but now it seemed less with tension than a kind of shock. It made no sense.

I pulled back to look up into Edward's face. Handsome, like all the Cullens. His amber eyes were looking into mine with some strong emotion, but I couldn't tell exactly what it was.

His dress shirt was opened at the neck. My frenzied hug had pulled it askew, and I noticed odd silvery crescents on his throat and chest. They looked like old scars, but how could he have so many?

Alice was suddenly beside us. "Bella," she said and her voice was actually trembling, "Bella, this . . . this is Jasper."

My hands dropped to my sides. The man I'd been clinging to put an arm around Alice. He looked like someone grasping at reality.

"Oh." My voice sounded very small. I shut my eyes briefly at a loss to know what to say, what to do. There was a formula for this. If you committed a terrible faux-pas that went unnoticed by absolutely no one, the first thing to do was apologize, no matter how humiliated you might feel. "I'm really sorry," I croaked. "I didn't know."

"It's okay," he said, swallowing. He looked more worried than affronted.

At that instant I became aware of another presence in the room, someone who had entered behind . . . Jasper. He was only a dark image in my peripheral vision.

I turned and met his eyes, and instantly the world fell away. There was no power on earth that could distract me from that inhumanly perfect face. I knew it with every sense and thought and instinct in me.

Emotion swelled up from some hidden core, too overwhelming to contain. My body began to tremble with the effort. I opened my mouth to speak, but what came out sounded more like a guttural cry. I took one faltering step.

And then I started screaming.


	13. Demon

Chapter 13

Demon

He was tall and lean, dressed in midnight black.

Against a snow white shirt, a red tie blazed like flowing blood. The devil's color, I noted in some part of my throbbing mind. Only the devil could have fashioned that celestial face, so heart-breakingly beautiful that all other faces would forever seem like crude masks in comparison.

It was as if some demonic Michelangelo had chipped away every unnecessary trace of anything that wasn't pure masculine beauty – the sublime angles of his jaw, his cheekbones, the high smooth forehead. His lustrous hair seemed licked with flames. The result was a façade designed to beguile and enslave.

I had no doubt that it was a façade, even while I tried desperately to look away. His brilliant eyes beneath heavy brows had me pinned in place like a butterfly.

The shrill screams, my screams, subsided when I became too paralyzed to draw in enough breath to continue. I was vaguely aware that the Cullens had clustered around me, too close, way too close. I needed air, needed to get a breath, needed space, but no . . . way more than that I needed protection.

And then the demon took a step forward and spoke.

"Bella."

Just one word, but it landed like yet another mortal blow. His voice shot through me like quicksilver, like the sweetest most deadly venom, flowing to every part of my body, as my blood had once flowed, enlivening every nerve. I could see it in an instant. He intended to make his control over me complete in every corner of my mind and body. He could do it.

He could so easily do it.

"Don't," I managed to gasp. "Don't let him come any closer."

"Bella, for God's sake, pull yourself together," Rosalie said, gaping at me. "He's back . . . he loves you . . . he –"

"Is that what he told you?" I shrank back against my protectors. The air was thick with their shock and confusion and worry. It felt like a barrier, but it wouldn't hold, not against him.

"It's true," Alice said, attempting to put her arms around me. "You mean everything in the world to him. He'd rather die than hurt you, I swear it."

What did it matter whether he wanted to hurt me or not? The point was he could do whatever he chose. Couldn't they feel what he was radiating from across the room – the energy, the irresistible pull? Had they grown so used to it they didn't notice?

As I watched, still unable to break his magnetic gaze, Esme broke from the circle surrounding me and ran straight at the dark apparition. Unable to move, my desperate warning cry caught in my throat. Gentle little Esme, vampire or not – he could destroy her with one swift stroke.

She put her hands on his face, as if trying to pull his gaze from mine. _No_, I wanted to scream, _don't you dare risk your life for me_, but the demon acted as if she wasn't there. I could tell she was speaking to him, rapidly and intently but couldn't catch the words.

"I've got . . . I've got to get out of here," I whispered.

"Bella, you're in no condition to go anywhere." It was Carlisle's voice. He reached for my face, as if trying to duplicate his wife's futile attempt at the other end of the room. Multiple hands took hold of my body forcing me to turn my back on my tormenter.

How was I going to get away from here if I couldn't even fight off this move? It was the trembling, I realized. I was trembling uncontrollably again. Still, my eyes wouldn't look away from the golden ones. A steel bond might have been connecting us.

At last, Carlisle succeeded in wrenching my head around to face him. Why were they looking at me? I wasn't the one endangering them.

"Watch him," I choked out. "He's more powerful than you know. He'll strike when you least expect it."

"That's not going to happen," Carlisle said in his most commanding tone. "You're not thinking clearly, Bella. Let us help you. We'll keep you safe." He threw one hand up in the direction of the other two. What was happening to Esme? Didn't they see how she'd flung herself right into the path of destruction? "Edward, stay where you are. Let me get the situation under control here."

The demon had a name. Of course, he did, the one that my mind had fought so hard to keep out. I concentrated on regaining some semblance of mastery over my shuddering body. I needed to convince them I wasn't hysterical, that my brain was finally working again – its first duty self-preservation.

The press of hard bodies encircling me suddenly felt like a trap, the Cullens less like protectors than my captors. I needed them to relax their grip, so I could get away. I would hit the front door, demolishing it if I had to, and keep running until I could feel some sense of safety, however slight. Here despite their misguided efforts to reassure me, I felt like any minute one of us could become a sacrifice to the incredible power pulsing through the room. Couldn't they feel the dominance he projected just by standing there, like a god cloaked in that unearthly beauty?

Dangerous. Deadly.

"Bella, you need to chill," Emmett said in my ear. I realized it was his hands gripping my shoulders. "I'm not sure what all the drama's about, but nobody here wants to hurt you. They couldn't even if they tried. You're probably still stronger than any of us." That fact had slipped my mind. All my attention was on flight – not fight. "Come on now. You gotta give my brother a break. You're killing him here. Just let him talk to you, maybe touch you. If you just –"

I slammed my elbow backward into his diaphragm, and he released his hold. The others were even easier to get away from. In less than a second I was at the front door, yanking at the knob with an unsteady hand. I'd succeeded in getting it open when something slammed into me from behind like a wrecking ball.

I careened off the steel door jam and into the wall, dislodging a fragile sconce that smashed to smithereens in a cloud of plaster dust. It didn't hurt, but when I regained my feet, the same attacker was on me again. I whirled; my arm arced up to strike at him, and saw that it was Jasper. I hesitated overwhelmed again by a feeling of déjà vu.

"Bella, honey, I'm sorry. I really am, but if you go out there now, acting so crazy, you could get yourself in trouble and the rest of us too."

I guess he thought I was listening to reason since, instead of making for the door again, I remained where I was and looked into his face.

This had happened before.

It was coming back to me. Jasper had launched himself at me one other time – at my birthday party. It was a stupid paper cut that set him off, though I didn't remember him actually hurting me. Hadn't Alice said something about it just the other night? But why would she bring that up?

It was after I'd seen the photograph. As soon as she'd handed it to me, there was nothing else in the picture but that one face, a woefully inadequate representation of the real thing, as it turned out. The vague horrors it triggered had made me throw it aside before I'd so much as glanced at the other two men in the photo. One I would have recognized as Emmett.

For whatever reason, Alice had chosen that moment to start talking about Jasper, maybe just because he was away and she missed him. Something about his time with the newborns – that explained the numerous scars I'd seen – and how he'd once gone after me – not me personally really, just the blood – but had since become my friend.

Jasper was watching me warily, but there was compassion in his face as well. As I stood there, trying to get my bearings, a less urgent emotion began to bleed into my terror – guilt. The other Cullens had lined up between me and the door, even Esme who appeared to be in one piece after all. All of them looked worried – about me. All of them were ignoring the enormous threat to themselves, standing just yards away. I didn't dare look in that direction, but I knew he was still there. I could feel his presence as if it was a part of me. Why didn't the others sense the danger?

Two things in my frenzied mind became crystal clear. First, the Cullens really did care about me. Despite their blind allegiance to him, they were sincerely concerned for my welfare. Second, if I left now, if I saved myself, there would be absolutely no one to make them see reason before it was too late.

They were like innocent sheep, unaware of the predator in their midst. Never mind that they were all technically predators. What they were seemed harmless next to the treachery of the demon who moved among them claiming their affection, pretending to respect their laws. He apparently had them all fooled, but not me. My eyes had been opened, and I couldn't just leave them all to suffer the consequences.

Carlisle approached, putting his hands on my upper arms. I let him. "Bella, you trust me, don't you?" I bit my lip but nodded. Yes, I trusted him, trusted them all, but they had been too trusting by far. "I want you to come up to my study, where we can talk quietly. Jasper, can you give me a hand here please?"

I didn't resist. Anything that took me away from the force of his presence had to be a good choice. The three of us moved toward the stairs. From the corner of my eye, I could see the others all rushing to where the demon stood, flocking around him as they had flocked around me, almost as if he needed their comfort as well.

I shivered.

Carlisle led the way up the stairs, Jasper, the soldier, bringing up the rear. They still weren't sure I wouldn't make a break for it. Maybe I should, but I couldn't help feeling I'd be abandoning them to a horrible fate that they were too blind to see. I had seen it – conclusively, if not clearly.

The demon knew that. He knew someone was onto him and that his so-called family was being drawn closer to the truth of what he was. My reaction had put them all in imminent danger. I had to try to do something to make up for that.

For the first time, I became aware of a soothing atmosphere winding gently around us. Jasper. He'd probably been projecting it for a while now, only I'd been too overwrought to respond. No wonder Carlisle had requested his help. He served two purposes – as military guard and would-be pacifier.

Carlisle shut the study door behind us and took a seat behind the desk. Was he assuming a position of authority on purpose? Did he think I'd find his arguments more convincing this way? He was going to argue with me, I was sure. They'd all been doing that to some extent, ever since my reaction to . . . Edward . . . had not been the one they expected. I sat in the brass-studded club chair nearest the desk; Jasper chose the matching one, again between me and the door.

"I want to start," Carlisle said, "with an apology. I've been hoping to find a way to explain these symptoms of yours and to help you deal with them, but I haven't been able to do that, and I'm sorry. I let you down."

"It doesn't matter."

'It matters very much. I want you to know I haven't given up. You're clearly under a lot of stress right now. I'm asking you to give me a chance to work with you and see if we can't ease that."

I shook my head. "You don't understand."

"You're right, but I want to try. Can you tell me a little about what you were feeling downstairs? I promise, nothing you say here will leave this room if you don't want it to, and if you prefer Jasper not be here, then please say so. He won't mind."

"He can stay." The whole family could join us if they wanted to. It wouldn't change anything. I took a deep breath and folded my arms protectively across my chest. "I felt shock and terror and a kind of helplessness," I said. "Just like I did the other night when Alice showed me the picture, only much, much worse."

"And this had something to do with Edward?"

"It had everything to do with Edward. He's . . . he's not what you think he is."

"All right," Carlisle said slowly. "What do you think he is?"

I allowed myself another deep breath, trying to pull in some of Jasper's calming influence. "He's extremely determined. He's manipulative. And he's deceptive." There. Those were the least inflammatory words I could come up with to describe what I knew.

"We all have to be a little manipulative in order to walk the fine line we've set for ourselves."

"But he's a lot better at it than most, isn't he?" I fought to hold Carlisle's gaze. I had to make him hear me. "And he lies, something else he's exceptionally good at, I'm sure."

"Again, Bella, we have to lie. It's the only way we can mix with humans and still survive."

I sighed. "You asked me to tell you how I felt, and that's what I'm doing, but if you're going to make excuses for everything I say –"

"I'm sorry," he interrupted. "I'm not trying to invalidate your feelings, but if we're going to understand each other, a certain amount of give and take is required, don't you think? You're giving us your point of view, and that's vitally important, but I should be able to express mine as well. It's only fair."

Maybe my first impulse, the one to run far away, had been the smart one. Still, I'd set my course. I had to follow through. "I guess. Go ahead with what you wanted to say."

"Only that everything you're saying is diametrically opposed to what you would normally say. I know you don't remember that, but it's a fact. And I have to add, in defense of my son, of both of you really, that Edward loves you. I can promise you that he values your life above his own."

"I know that's what he must have told you."

"He didn't have to tell us," Carlisle said, unable to keep a note of impatience from his voice. "He's proved it in so many ways. He's done everything possible to protect you, Bella, to keep you safe."

"From what? From everything but himself?" I hated the strident tone I was taking, hated the way I was working to strip away all the comfortable illusions this good man had accepted as reality. They were too good – all of them – too ready to believe the lie that hid something poisonous in their midst.

"He's killed . . . a lot of people," I said emphatically. Carlisle didn't answer. He was good at hiding his reactions. "Aren't you going to deny it?"

"I've killed a lot of people," Jasper said softly. "I'd wager a whole lot more than Edward ever has."

I'd nearly forgotten he was there. Turning to look him full in the face, I nodded. "I know. Alice told me. You were a soldier, and it was a long time ago. She said you've tried very hard to put all that behind you."

"Now who's making excuses?" Carlisle pointed out gently. He shot an apologetic look at Jasper.

"It's not the same thing," I insisted. "Jasper's not hiding it. He's not pretending to be something that he's not in order to . . . to control people."

"I tried to kill you," Jasper said matter-of-factly. His eyes held a definite challenge.

"I remember – at least part of it. You were following your instincts. I never thought it was anything personal."

"Listen to yourself, Bella," Carlisle cautioned. "You're willing to cut Jasper some slack, but not Edward. You're arranging the facts to fit your irrational reaction to the person you care about most."

"They're still facts," I insisted. "Edward wanted to kill me. Did you know that? He wanted it for a long time, and it was definitely personal. You should have seen the way he looked at me when we first met. It was terrifying. He totally hated me."

"You remember that?" Carlisle frowned slightly. I noticed it was one more thing he wasn't attempting to deny. He hadn't even been there, and yet I was sure he knew it was the truth.

"He told me that the scent of my blood was like a drug to him – like heroin."

"That's a documented phenomenon, Bella. It doesn't happen very often, but it's a fact that there are certain humans whose blood is overwhelmingly attractive to a particular vampire. It can be practically impossible to resist."

The unspoken part of that statement was that obviously Edward had resisted, as if that proved I was wrong about him. I had to make them – especially Carlisle – look beyond the idealized image they all seemed to have bought into.

"Do you know how he planned to attack me?" I pushed on. "He was going to kill everyone in our biology class – everyone, including the teacher. He wasn't even going to drink their blood. It was just something he thought about doing to get to what he wanted."

It gave me a perverse satisfaction when I caught the tiniest flinch in Carlisle's steady eyes. Where had all this come from anyhow? These ghastly memories floating up from the dark center of my mind like dead things in a swamp. I didn't want to hurt these people, but I had to make them understand.

"If we were all held accountable for our fantasies," he said with a small smile, "most of the world's population would be in trouble, don't you imagine? But I understand it must have been a terrifying experience for you, being the target of Edward's hostility even if he never acted on it."

The memory slithered through me, shredding my nerves as if it had claws. He had looked at me with such hatred, and I'd been stupid enough to wonder if I'd done something to deserve it. "But he did act on it – more than once. I remember . . ." What did I remember exactly? Pain and razor-sharp teeth. Panic was bubbling up inside me again.

"He saved your life, too," Carlisle said, "and more to the point, you risked yourself to save his."

"I'll just bet I did." The acid in my voice startled even me. It sounded like something that would come out of Rosalie's mouth.

"What do you mean?"

"Isn't it obvious? Whatever hold he had over me was meant to serve his own selfish ends. I'm sure I was a perfect little puppet doing everything he asked no matter who it hurt."

"Bella, it was never like that. How can I make you believe me?"

"I can't believe you, Carlisle, not while you still believe in him." I shook my head. "It's clear I was weak enough to be dazzled by him, but he seems to have done the same thing to all of you. He gets away with it, and he'll keep on getting away with it, unless you open your eyes.

"Whatever happened to me to make me be like this, it's taken the blinders off. I'm seeing things as they really are for the first time since – forever. And it's really, really scaring me." I rose from my chair. "I just can't do this anymore. I have to go."

'Come on now, Bella, please don't." Jasper reached out to take my hand. His voice was soft and suddenly very southern. "Just stay a little while longer. We can talk about something else, can't we, Carlisle?"

"Of course, we can."

I hesitated. Just where was I going to go? And what good would it do? Jasper still held my hand loosely in his. I concentrated on the calm radiating from somewhere inside him, inviting it in to steady my frazzled nerves. The truth was my knees were trembling. Sitting seemed like a good idea. I sank back down into the chair, and Jasper released my hand.

"You told me before," Carlisle said, "that your mind felt like a puzzle and you were trying to make the pieces fit. Has that changed?"

"Not really. Everything seemed to be falling into place – who was connected to who and how. You and Esme, and the children you'd adopted. Emmett and Rosalie. Alice and then finally Jasper. It was only the center that was blank. I knew I must belong there somehow, and when Alice mentioned her third brother it seemed to make sense. He and I – there had to be some kind of bond between us that would make the picture whole. I thought that we must mean something special to each other. I just assumed it would be a positive connection, like the rest of you have. I never imagined . . . this."

Carlisle ignored my last words. "What does the picture look like to you now, Bella? Can you see that you belong there?"

I shook my head. "No. Part of me feels like I do belong there, but I'm wondering if that isn't just wishful thinking, because it was always just me and Renee. Being part of a big family, especially people who are like me, people I care about sounds really nice. The whole center of the puzzle is just a blank. I don't see any way to fit in there and I can't . . . I won't picture him at all. It seems ridiculous to keep working on it."

It felt more than ridiculous. It felt perilous. In fact, the center wasn't really a blank any longer. It more closely resembled a black hole that might swallow up all the good things surrounding it. I didn't want to say that. In my own way, I was pulling this family apart as surely as my nemesis below.

"We have to believe that this will all work out," Carlisle said. "I know it's hard, feeling what you're feeling now, but there are other emotions and memories inside you, Bella. We just need to find a way to bring them to light." He studied my face, and I knew he could see nothing there to give him hope that what he said was true. "Do you know what a Polaroid camera is?" he asked.

I nodded. "Renee had one when I was little. She used to let me hold the photos and watch the pictures form. It seemed like magic."

"But it isn't magic. There's a scientific reason that the process works. Eventually all the colors come to life, the images take shape and all the details fill in. A plain piece of paper shows you something very real. There's a process that can help you do the same thing. I don't know what it is yet, but I will find out."

I suddenly felt very tired, not my body, which was no longer so humanly weak, but mentally and emotionally I felt drained. I didn't have the energy to argue with him. Hadn't I made it plain that I didn't want to find those missing pieces, that the picture they formed would hold only horror for me? "I'd really like to go now," I said quietly.

"Of course," Carlisle answered. "Would you like Alice to join us and take you to her room?"

"No!" I said, much louder than I meant to. "I'm not staying here. I'll go back to my own house."

"Your own house?" Carlisle repeated, a sudden alertness in his expression.

"Charlie's, I mean. Charlie's house where I live, okay?"

"He isn't there, Bella, and I honestly don't think you should be by yourself. You've suffered a shock today."

I opened my mouth to protest, but there was a knock on the study door. Alice poked her head around. "May I come in?"

"We were just talking about you," Carlisle said with an attempt at a smile.

Alice moved into the room, slowly for her. The expression on her face was hard to read. When she got to where Jasper was sitting, he reached up to take her hand, as he'd taken mine, but I noticed they clung to each other in an entirely different way, almost as if they were lending each other strength.

"Are you feeling better, Bella?" she asked, placing her other hand on my shoulder.

"I suspect you already know how I'm feeling," I said. It sounded almost like an accusation. Was I seriously trying to alienate everyone around me? I forced a bit more warmth into my voice. "I'm going down to Charlie's for a while."

"That sounds like a sensible idea. I'll come with you." Her tone was light. I wondered if she too was struggling to sound the way she thought she should.

"No, you won't, Alice. Jasper just got home. I know you want to spend time together."

"Oh, Jasper doesn't mind, do you?" She looked at him, and I saw him squeeze her hand. "We have all the time in the world. I'll just go throw some things together and be right back."

"Alice, you don't have to –" But she was already gone.

"It's okay, Bella," Jasper said. "I've got things to do tonight."

"We'll all feel better if you have someone with you," Carlisle added. "If you feel worse while you're there or something changes, just call me and I'll come right away."

I didn't say anything. As if I wanted to disrupt their family any more than I had.

Alice was back in no time with a bulging duffel bag. "I threw in _Madame Bovary_ in case you feel like reading. Are you all set?"

"Sure," I got up and the others rose too. "I really do appreciate what you've been trying to do, Carlisle. I'm sorry I'm such a challenging patient."

"Always the most interesting kind," he said, smiling graciously.

Jasper kissed Alice goodbye and we moved toward the door, where I froze in mid-step. What if he was out there, standing at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for me? For a moment, I allowed his image to invade my mind again. Those intensely probing eyes, the surreal beauty that drew me like a person on the edge of a tall building who feels an irrational urge to leap into space.

"He's not there," Alice whispered at my ear. "Truly, you won't see him."

She opened the door, and I pushed myself forward. There was no one in the hall. No one at the bottom of the stairs. "Would you tell everyone goodbye for me? I mean the next time you see them. It's pretty rude just sneaking out like this."

"They'll understand." She put her arm around me, and I kept my eyes straight ahead as we left the house. It was dusk now, but even in the dim light, I could see that the Porsche, waiting in the driveway sparkled like new. The other car, the one that must belong to him, was nowhere in sight.

"Remind me to drive very slowly," Alice said, tossing the duffel behind the driver's seat. "There's no point in messing up my beautiful paint job again so soon."

As it turned out, I didn't have to remind her. Her driving was definitely not the usual for our kind. She maneuvered around what puddles she could and drove so slowly through the others that I was sure the massive engine would stall, but it didn't.

When we parked in Charlie's driveway, she got out and inspected the whole exterior with narrowed eyes, stopping now and then to swipe at a nearly invisible spot with the heel of her hand.

It felt extremely odd walking into the house again. It had been mere hours since we were here and yet so much had happened, such a battering of my emotions that we might have been returning from some harrowing journey from which we'd barely escaped with our lives.

"Would you like me to come upstairs with you, or would you rather be by yourself?"

"I just need to be alone, I think. I haven't felt this tired since I was human. You know where everything is. Just make yourself at home."

Alice opened the duffel and scooped out my things, including _Madame Bovary_. "Here," she said, "better take this in case you need a distraction."

I trudged upstairs into my room, dumped my things into the rocking chair in the corner and turned on the light by my bed. I piled the pillows up and lay down, closing my eyes as I had at Alice's, trying to find a center that could hold.

It didn't work.

My center was a dark foreboding place I didn't dare examine too closely. If only my tiredness was physical, I could hope for some relief, but, like everything that was wrong with me, it was in my mind. When I tried to picture something other than blackness, a hard, pale face threatened to emerge instead.

I sat up abruptly and went to the window, pushing the lace curtains aside. A fierce wind had blown in with the darkness. Branches scratched at the eaves. In the orange glow of the street light, the wet tarmac gleamed black and empty. The scene struck me as so desolate and devoid of hope that I shivered. Hope for what? I turned away and retrieved my book from the rocking chair.

For the next hour or two, I tried to read, but the story that had been so compelling before now seemed trivial. How could the problems of an imaginary woman in long ago France compete with what was happening around me now? There was true evil in our midst, and everyone else was blithely unaware of its existence. I was the only one who could unmask it, but how could I make them listen to me? What if they never did?

I jumped up and went to the window again, realizing that this was the fourth time I'd done so. I had no expectations, and yet when the street proved empty again, that same feeling of desolation washed through me. I sat back down on the bed, running my hands through my uncombed hair. There had to be something in the past that could help me prove my case to the Cullens. To find it, I would have to remember.

I'd been trying to do that since my odd condition began, with only minimal success, but after today everything in me recoiled at what those memories might bring. I had to be braver than that. I had to let them come and hope that they gave me the key that would end this nightmare. I clenched my fists and forced myself to call up the scene in the Cullen's living room, the moment when I turned to face the figure in black.

Immediately, I felt every muscle tense. Anxiety raced through me in a tangible wave. I couldn't do it – couldn't look into those burning eyes that made my soul tremble. Hadn't Carlisle said I shouldn't force things? I took a deliberate breath and fought the feelings back. When the feelings ebbed, so did the image that threatened to control me from inside my own mind.

I looked around the room, hoping to find something to hold my interest, but it seemed barren, as if no one had lived there for a long time. Not even my trusty cactus was here to ease the loneliness.

This used to be my haven when I first moved from Phoenix. It was the place I could go to cry, where Charlie couldn't see. Part of me wished I could cry now, but it wouldn't solve anything.

Maybe being alone was a bad idea. I switched off the lamp and went back downstairs. Alice was curled up on the living room couch watching the flat screen.

"Is anything wrong?" she asked when I joined her. Was that going to be the only thing anyone ever said to me from now on? _Is anything wrong? Are you okay?_

"No, I just got lonesome. What are you watching?"

"Old movies."

"Anything good?"

"Not unless you consider a giant fire-breathing turtle attacking Tokyo a good thing." She slipped her arm through mine. "I'm so glad you decided to join me. It's like a slumber party."

"Minus the slumber," I added. "Do you want me to pop some corn? We could do each other's nails and make crank calls to all the cute boys in school."

She seemed to find my attempt at humor encouraging. "Actually, I thought you might like to talk. Carlisle always says it's better to get things out when you're worried or upset."

"Carlisle may have changed his mind about that. He didn't like what I had to say. I have a feeling you wouldn't like it either."

"Try me, Bella, please. It's the only way we're going to make things right again."

And it was the only hope I had of getting through to them. "That's just it, Alice. It was never right. There was something terribly wrong the whole time, although none of us could see it." I scrunched my hair in my hands, wishing it would stop falling into my face. "I saw a story on the news one time about a boy who had been blind for years. He hit his head in a motorcycle accident, and when he regained consciousness, he could see. It's like that for me now."

Alice's expression was pained, but she nodded, urging me on. "Just what is it you see?" she asked.

"I see him – Edward – trying to kill me." I'd said much the same thing before with the certainty of faith, but this time the words were like a train engine, pulling a line of mismatched images and feelings in its wake. I shuddered. They didn't seem to be in any logical order. All of them were ugly.

"What was that?" I cried suddenly, jumping up from the couch in a quick fluid motion. "I think I heard something outside."

We both looked toward the living room window. "It's nothing, "Alice assured me. "Just branches hitting the house."

"It could be him," I said, hating the catch in my voice.

"No, it couldn't, Bella. I'd know if he were planning to come here, remember?"

"And you'd tell me, if he was?"

"Yes, I would." Alice reached for my hand and pulled me back down beside her on the sofa. "But he doesn't intend to do that. I promise."

I looked at her, seeing only sincerity and concern in her eyes. She was my best friend. I couldn't believe she'd deliberately betray me. And I couldn't betray our friendship by letting her continue in ignorance of the danger so close to her. "I remember now Alice, being in a hospital bed, hooked up to tubes and wires. I was in so much pain – my leg, my head. It hurt every time I took a breath."

"Surely, you can't believe Edward did that to you."

So she wasn't denying this memory either. It was real. "A lot of what happened is hazy. I think I must have been in shock or something, but I can still hear the sound of my leg snapping. There was broken glass and a terrible burning pain moving through all my nerves.

"He was there, Alice, he was kneeling beside me, holding my arm to his mouth and he was sucking the life right out of me. I could feel the moment when all the blood in my body changed course and started flowing to him. You could see the insanity in his eyes. So don't tell me he didn't try his best to kill me."

"And yet here you are," she said, trying to duplicate her usual airy tone and failing miserably. "Obviously, he didn't kill you."

"It wasn't because he didn't try," I persisted. "I don't know why he didn't succeed. Maybe someone stopped him. Or maybe that isn't what he was trying to do – maybe he was trying to make me a vampire."

He hadn't though. Otherwise I wouldn't have been in such pain for weeks afterwards. I'd never questioned what I was, even after so many things got screwed up in my head. How I got this way was something else I instinctively recoiled from remembering, but it didn't happen then, I was sure.

"Listen to me, Bella." She took my hand in both of hers. "Please just hear me out on this. What you remember is Edward trying desperately to get the venom out of your system before it was too late."

"Alice, you could not possibly believe that if you'd seen the look on his face."

"But it's true. It wasn't Edward who bit you. It was a nomad, a tracker, who was determined to have you."

"Wait a minute. This happened in Phoenix. I'm sure of that. You're telling me that I just naturally attract vampires now everywhere I go, even in Arizona?"

"No, he actually met you in Forks. He and his friends ran into us in one of the worst strokes of luck in Cullen history. He got fixated on you and followed you to Phoenix."

"Oh, and in all those hundreds of miles, he didn't come across a single other human to quench his thirst. That's just stupid, Alice."

"Not really," she insisted, talking very quickly. "It was because he saw how Edward tried to protect you. That was the challenge for him – another strong, young vampire for him to fight. You were just the bait that could draw Edward into battle. It was all a game to him."

I looked at her aghast. So this was supposed to make me feel better? A testosterone-driven battle with me as the bait, and the prize – what, death?

"So we're back to Edward again, and the games he likes to play. Alice, if you'd just listen to yourself, you'd see what I'm trying to tell you. He's a manipulator. If he really did try to save me, it was only to rob this other monster of his victory. It's a game to him, too, and I don't know what he expects to win in the end, but I'm really scared something horrible's going to happen to you or someone else in the family." I hoped that this time my logic would get through to her, but she only shook her head."

"This is all so twisted, Bella. I can't tell you how backward you've got it."

She looked so frustrated, I squeezed her hand in sympathy. I was frustrated too. "You wanted me to remember, and I'm starting to, but then you dismiss those memories like they're worthless. I notice neither you or Carlisle ever says they aren't true – just that I'm not interpreting them right. That's how much Edward's dazzled you and made you see what he wants you to see. It only proves my point. He must be extraordinarily good at it – even for an immortal – to make you all believe his lies. Do you see why I don't want to get anywhere near him?"

"You couldn't possibly be as frustrated as I am," Alice insisted. "I love you, and I love my brother, and you love each other. I would stake my life – my existence – on that."

I let go of her hand, sweeping my hair out of my eyes again. "Arghh. Let's just change the subject. Whatever happened to this tracker guy, is he still after me even though I'm not human?"

"No, you don't have to worry about that. He's very dead. That tends to happen when someone removes your head."

"Did Edward do that?" I stared at her in shock.

"No, Edward didn't do that. He was too busy trying to save your life."

"Don't go there, Alice. I really don't want to hear it again."

"All right," she hissed. "As a matter of fact, I did it. And Jazz and Emmett tore him apart and burned the pieces."

"Oh." Well, there was a real conversation stopper. What do you say to your dainty best girlfriend when she informs you she ripped somebody's head off?

"The problem is, Bella, that you're only remembering the bad things. You're ignoring all the good ones."

"Wow, they must have been great to balance out all the killing and stuff. What did he do, buy me my own country?"

"No, "she said carefully, "but you went to the prom together, and I think you had a pretty good time."

I bit my lip, cocking my head at her. "Who's the delusional one here – really? I'd rather go to the dentist than be caught dead at a prom. I can't even dance."

"Well, I think Edward sort of made you."

"What, like a monkey on a chain? Are there even monkeys with two left feet? There's no way that happened. It's obviously something he made up. And you actually fell for it? Alice, you're being totally absurd."

"Why would he make up something like that?"

"I don't know. Maybe he needed an alibi cause he had me out mugging little old ladies or . . . or robbing liquor stores."

"Now who's being absurd?" We glared at each other for a moment, but there was no animosity in it. "Bella, we have to decide what we're going to do with you. I don't think it's a good idea for you to stay here once Charlie gets back. He's going to have too many questions about why you're here and why you're acting so strangely. As much as he resists knowing the truth, I don't see how parts of it wouldn't start to leak out."

"Well, I can't go to your house, not while he's there."

"He's part of our family, Bella. No one's going to ask him to leave." I gritted my teeth. They should. They really should, if they knew what was best for them. "Let's see what tomorrow brings. Maybe something will have changed. Maybe the rest of your memories will come back or Carlisle could come up with an answer. For now, let's just relax, okay?"

We turned our attention to the television then. Even flying turtles would be preferable to the kind of circular arguing we were liable to wind up doing if we kept talking. Better to focus on something totally unrelated to reality. The movie that was on now involved aliens posing as various household appliances.

Yeah, that would work too.


	14. Carlisle II

Chapter 14

Carlisle II

When Alice and Bella had left, I followed Jasper out into the hall. "Thanks for your help in there, son," I said, patting him on the shoulder.

"Not sure it did any good. Listening to Bella – it's like she's a completely different person."

"You're wrong there," I said thoughtfully. "One thing hasn't changed. Her passion, her emotions are still focused on Edward."

Jasper frowned. "You say that like it's a good thing. All I see here is one hell of a disaster."

"No, not good necessarily. Just interesting. We have to take whatever clues we're given in hopes they'll add up to an explanation of what's motivating her. Let me know if you notice anything that might help."

"Of course." He nodded before heading down the hall, but he didn't look optimistic. He looked like I felt – shocked, perplexed, worried.

"Carlisle," Esme said, materializing out of the darkness, "what in the world is going on?"

I drew her into my arms, as much to obscure the expression of alarm on her face as to offer any real comfort. "I don't know. I thought I had a reasonably good idea of how this scenario would play out, but I was completely wrong. I'm as much in the dark as the rest of you. But, how is Edward taking this?"

"I can't really say. He was so completely stunned. I'm not even sure he heard a word I said. Once he understood we couldn't give him any answers, he pulled away and went back to Renesmee's room. It's probably the best place for him right now. If he has her to hold onto, it may help him realize that this is just a temporary situation. At the least, his concern for her might keep him from . . . well, going off the deep end."

I knew exactly what she meant. Like a lot of deeply sensitive people, Edward is a creature of extremes. His intelligence takes note of the gray areas, but he's emotionally incapable of letting them blunt his reactions. It's the reason neither Esme nor I made any great attempt to interfere with his infatuation for Bella. Parents have to pick their battles. That we would lose this one was inevitable.

We'd never known him to show any significant interest in a girl, though it was clear from the beginning that nearly all of them were his for the taking. I'd sometimes thought he might have opened up a little more socially, dared to cultivate the kind of cautious friendliness with his peers that we could allow ourselves, if his effect on women hadn't been so marked.

I'd seen it from the beginning, the way females of every age turned around to look at him as he passed, faltered under his gaze, appeared to soften when he spoke. Edward put it down to our natural – or supernatural – ability to mesmerize humans, but it was more than that. Had he remained mortal, I was certain he would have left a trail of broken hearts in his wake with no conscious intension of doing so.

Having the one person in the world he'd opened himself up to, the one who'd been able to revive the human part of him – the part that had the capacity for love and happiness – inexplicably turn away from him was not likely to have anything but a disastrous effect.

"Do you think he'll follow Bella down to Charlie's?" I asked my wife.

"No, I'm sure he won't– not yet anyway. He's too used to giving her what she wants, and she made it very clear she didn't want to see him. Until he's recovered enough to think his way around it, I don't believe that will be a problem."

"I'll go talk to him," I sighed into Esme's sweet-smelling hair.

"Would you like me to come with you?"

"It's better if we don't give him the impression we're ganging up on him. He's likely to be a little volatile right now, but I want to get him talking before he internalizes everything again."

"If anyone can get through to him, it's you," she said with conviction. "I'll be in my studio if you need me."

"I will need you," I admitted and kissed her in a way meant to communicate how much. When I released her, she gave my arm a final reassuring squeeze, and disappeared down the hall.

I stood there a minute, trying to decide what my approach should be, finally realizing it didn't matter. Edward was going to be Edward no matter what I did, so I'd just wait and take my cue from him.

I opened the door to Renesmee's room very quietly to find him standing in the middle of the floor, holding her tight in his arms. He rocked her gently from side to side, so that I caught a glimpse of her adorable face – fast asleep, her little rosebud mouth parted in complete relaxation. Edward's face was buried in her curls.

They were so much alike that I couldn't see where her hair ended and his began. It was a peaceful scene, and I wasn't about to disturb it, though I knew he was aware of my presence. After a long while, he laid her gently back in the bed, kissing her cheek before turning and striding right past me without a single word.

Not good.

Not good at all, I thought, lingering in the hallway after he'd gone. If only I could think of a way to stop the coming eruption before it started. Why was it still this difficult? I knew Edward as well as I knew anyone. I should be able to find a way to reach him, my youngest and oldest child, the one who held a special place – for so many reasons – in the deepest part of my heart.

I realized that I was listening for sounds of destruction. The piano perhaps or, God forbid, the window wall, but the house was quiet. No growls reverberating off the walls, no colorful expletives.

The calm before the storm.

I forced myself forward, looking for him first in the main rooms, then back up to his old room and everywhere in between. He had to have left. I cursed myself inwardly for hanging back. Had Esme been wrong? Was he hell-bent on going after Bella?

I whipped open the front door about to charge into the night, when a wave of reprieve washed over me. He was sitting on the bottom step, his head in his hands, not moving. I passed him, walking softly, and took a seat on a boulder a few feet away, where I could keep an eye on him.

Long minutes passed. He showed no sign of ever looking up. I knew all too well that he could stay like this indefinitely, and a part of me wanted to let sleeping dogs lie. Whatever I said now was only likely to ignite his temper, but avoiding the issue was not going to get us anywhere either.

"I'm sorrier than you know, son, that I wasn't able to help Bella with her memory problem before you got home. I really didn't want you to have to see her so confused, but what actually happened . . . it never entered my mind that she'd react the way she did."

Another few minutes passed in which he acted as if he hadn't heard me. Then he rubbed his eyes. His arms came to rest on his knees, fists unclenched, fingers relaxed.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

"You're too hard on yourself, Carlisle. Clearly, Bella's memory is perfect."

His face was so expressionless, his voice such an even tone that I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic. He must be. "I don't understand what you're saying."

He ignored me, looking off into the distance. "I know that you think immortals can have souls," he said in the same flat voice. "Bella tried to convince me that was true, even for me. For the first time, I may actually believe her."

"Of course, you do Edward – you of all people. You're essentially a good, decent –"

He stopped me with a glare that could have blasted a hole in anything other than a vampire.

"Why else," he continued, "would God or Fate or an immensely vindictive universe have waited until I was truly . . . happy . . . to exact retribution?"

"Retribution? Edward, you have to stop this business of blaming yourself for everything bad that happens to the people around you. You don't deserve it."

"You're blind, Carlisle. Blinded by your compassion. I'm not like you. I never have been. I have to give credit to whatever power controls these things. The irony is exquisite. You have to admit that the punishment fits the crime."

"What crime?"

"Where would you like to begin? The people I've killed? I wouldn't. That's so common, nothing out of the ordinary for our kind. Perhaps you could start with the way I've deceived and manipulated and lied to the one human in this world who dared to accept me, love me even, although it was only because she saw what I wanted her to see."

A sickening realization was coming to me, belatedly. He was looking at me with clear contempt for my intelligence. His words. They were some of the same ones Bella had used in my study. He'd been listening to every damning thing she said.

No wonder he hadn't responded to the overtures of the others, no wonder he'd taken himself off to the peace and quiet of Renesmee's room. He did it in order to focus on the harrowing thoughts Bella was placing in my head.

"Edward, I didn't think. I should have known you'd be listening. You can't take what Bella said literally. She's not herself right now."

Once again, he acted as if I hadn't spoken. "Let me see, she thinks I hated her. Anything wrong with that particular memory, Carlisle? No, wait. I believe I confided that fact to you at the time. I hated her like I'd never hated anyone in my life. Her very presence threatened everything I'd achieved in this existence – the control that allowed me to hold back the monster, your misplaced belief that I could be like you. I would say her recollection is remarkably accurate."

"None of that's important anymore," I interjected.

"No? How about the fact that I wanted to kill her? You know that memory is correct as well. I was so consumed with it that I was willing to cancel out all those decades of abstinence and take down as many innocent bystanders as it took to get to her. You don't know how coldly and calculatingly I planned it."

"But you didn't do it. For God's sake, Edward, you saved her life from that skidding van – at great risk to all of us."

"Thank you, Carlisle," he said with deceptive smoothness. "You're right, of course. I was also willing to sacrifice all of you. Excellent point."

"That's not what I meant. I'm saying your actions speak louder than anything you might have been thinking."

"By actions, I assume you include the time I really did nearly kill her. As I recall, you were the voice of reason in that instance. Someone should tell Bella that, although I know you're too modest. You really should get credit for saving her."

"If you're talking about Phoenix, that's nonsense. You would have stopped on your own."

"I didn't want to stop," he said with that ruthless honesty he turns only on himself.

"Of course, you didn't. You were in the throes of the most intense, instinctual phenomenon our kind can ever experience, but we both know you were the only one who could have stopped it, and you did. That took tremendous will-power."

"But can you deny that I'm also the one who put her there in the first place?"

"That's far more debatable. If you're going to assume the powers that be – Fate or God –whatever you want to call it, are determined to make you pay for every wrong thing you've ever done, then you have to acknowledge that they might have played a part in placing Bella in the path of danger. All I'm asking is that you give yourself a little bit of credit."

He looked at me and his expression softened a little. I wondered what he saw. He looked horrible – for Edward. His hair was standing up in all directions. His shirt was wrinkled and his tie had come completely undone. He never looked that unkempt even in the midst of a kill, but it was his expression, when he let it show, that spoke of inner torment.

I doubted I looked a whole lot better. The feeling that my family was falling apart and that I was doing nothing to stop it must have taken its toll on my own appearance.

"If I have credit due," he said quietly, "it's only because of you. What conscience I have is merely your voice telling me how I should want to behave, if I were capable of being more like you. It's the primary reason I didn't act on that first murderous impulse. I hated the thought of destroying your faith in me."

"It wasn't the only reason, Edward. I know it wasn't. I would not sit here and let someone else disparage you like this. I'm not going to listen to you do it to yourself."

"Yes, you are." A fleeting smile appeared and then was gone. "It's your nature. It's what makes you so good at what you do, not just as a doctor, but in holding this family together. I know you think I blame myself too much, but in that regard, as Bella implied, you are blind. If I could find something positive to say about my behavior, I would, because I know it would please you, and I'm sorry I can't do that more often."

"Then try," I demanded. "Stop seeing everything as black and white and tell me something you did right."

For a minute, I thought he wouldn't answer, but finally he said, "I did try to warn Bella that I wasn't a good friend for her. I did that several times, trying to push her away, and there was a part of me that actually meant it."

I nodded my encouragement, "I believe that. Only she wouldn't listen to what you were saying."

"She wouldn't listen, because while I was pushing her away on one hand, I was pulling her toward me on the other. That was Bella in confusion, not the person you saw tonight. Now, it's as if the things she refused to hear before are suddenly registering for the first time. That's not confusion, Carlisle. It's called enlightenment."

I sighed. I'd been expecting turmoil, though I wasn't sure how to deal with it. This, this cold logic, I hadn't prepared for at all. I floundered around for a way to refute it. "Look, Edward, it's clear that what she's remembered are the negatives. We have to assume the good memories will return as well."

"Prepare for a long wait," he advised with a bitter twist of his mouth. "There's some way to go yet on the negative side of the ledger. I don't believe she mentioned that I stalked her relentlessly, that I broke into her house and spent night after night in her room watching her sleep."

"Even humans do things they wouldn't normally do when they're in love," I offered weakly.

"I told myself the same thing," he said with a nonchalance I wasn't buying for an instant. "Until it occurred to me that I wasn't human, that what I was doing was simply business as usual for a predator."

"It's hardly predatory," I argued, "to constantly subject yourself to the presence of someone whose blood you crave and not attack her. She was asleep, defenseless."

"She's always been defenseless," he muttered darkly.

"And you didn't take advantage of that. You were completely alone with her all those nights and you didn't kill her."

"Is this one of those things I'm supposed to take credit for?" He arched a brow at me. "Very well, then. In that regard I'm precisely as noble as every other person on the planet – of whatever species – who didn't kill Bella. You must be proud."

My jaw clenched. Arguing with Edward is somewhat akin to banging your head on a stone wall. If you're as indestructible as I am, you may eventually break through, but not without a superhuman headache.

"She thinks I've been controlling her," he went on, "and I cannot see an honest way to refute that. She was drawn to Jacob, as she should have been. He loved her. He didn't go out of his way to put her in danger. He was eager to give her the kind of life she deserved. Only one thing prevented it, and that was my interference."

"You're overlooking the small detail that it's you she loved, not Jacob, not in the way that mattered. There aren't many men who would allow the woman they love to spend so much time with an obvious rival. It couldn't have been easy, Edward, but you bore it because you wanted her to be happy."

"Is that the reason? Or was I simply afraid she'd end up hating me if I stood in her way? I went along with it only so far, and then I reeled her back in – every time. Tell me that doesn't qualify as controlling behavior."

By now, I should know better than to try to sway Edward's self-image when he's on one of these downward spirals. Thanks to Bella, it had been a while. In fact, a week ago I would have wagered that nothing could pull him down that treacherous path again.

How could he possibly slip into the old habits of self-criticism with Bella staring at him adoringly every time he turned around? And only Bella had the power to send him there again. Edward was right about one thing. Something in the universe was very fond of irony.

"So all your behavior has been selfish. Let's assume for a moment you're right."

"I am," he stated flatly, subjecting his hair to another round of torture.

"I'm not so sure that isn't true of all lovers who've found lasting happiness together. You take note, Edward, in every successful couple, you'll find that each partner thinks they're the lucky one. Hardly a day goes by that I don't look at Esme and wonder how someone with my history could have ended up with a sweet . . . pure soul like her, yet she's made it clear that she's grateful for me. I suspect that kind of selfishness may be the secret to most enduring passions."

"Bella has never been selfish."

"Well, she's not the pawn you're making her out to be. She wasn't some flighty airhead you took advantage of or one of those rebellious girls who needles her parents by taking up with the school bad boy."

There'd been overtures by a few of those over the years, but, of course, Edward had seen through them. Their efforts to claim more than a haughty glance from him had gone unrewarded.

"Too bad, isn't it?" he went on caustically. "You might have been able to assign a modicum of responsibility to someone reckless or aggressive, but I had to exploit the most caring, responsible, innocent person in Forks, someone who had no concept of the things she had to offer."

He was up and pacing now, unable to contain the black energy roiling inside him. "I should have fixated on someone like Jessica Stanley. She threw herself in my path continually with her intrusive fantasies. Irritating and presumptuous in the extreme, but we might have made a fitting couple. She's almost as big a hypocrite as I am. Her mind is singularly petty and untrustworthy. We were probably made for each other."

I'd been sitting with my arms on my knees, but now my hands shot out, of their own volition as if they could reach across the space between us and shake him into silence. "Edward," I said through gritted teeth, "could you . . . please . . . just shut up!"

I closed my eyes, listening to the tactless words ricochet around my head. I seldom allow myself to be provoked, particularly by a member of my own family. When I looked up again, Edward was back on the step.

This is what he must have looked like as a little boy, I thought suddenly. He was peering up at me through long lashes, his eyes wide with surprise and something else – perhaps a tinge of the satisfaction a child feels when he's at last succeeded in pushing the parental hot button.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," he said with a glimmer of his crooked grin. "Aren't you the one always telling me I need to open up more?"

"You know what they say about being careful what you wish for." I shot him a weary smile. "I always have the feeling you say such a small fraction of what you're actually thinking. That can be frustrating."

"Not half as frustrating as listening to what everyone else is thinking, most of which should never escape their mouths."

"I imagine you're right there." The splattering of rain we'd both been ignoring was graduating into torrents, soaking our clothes. I thought about suggesting we move inside, but I doubted Edward had even noticed it. His brows had knit together again. He raked the wet hair out of his eyes. "This day has been a little surreal for me, listening to you and Bella, both of you trying your best to convince me that you're a monster."

"You should be pleased we're in such harmony," he muttered, hiding again behind sarcasm.

"Hardly. You're both remarkably one-note. Bella at least has an excuse. She's only remembering part of what she knows. You, on the other hand, are deliberately refusing to see anything that doesn't fit your own dark vision. You know perfectly well, you can't expect to solve a problem if you insist on ignoring half the variables. We've got to restore the missing positives to Bella's mind. It's the only way for her to regain any perspective, so her genuine feelings can come back to her."

"What positives are those, Carlisle?" he said, and the vehemence was back in his voice. "What exactly have I done to make her life better, aside from nearly getting her killed on numerous occasions and then being so good as to save her? I've cut her off from her friends and family. Destroyed all the experiences she would have had in a regular human life. I've brought on all the misery you saw in her tonight. She's never let me give her the material things I'd like to. Oh, yes, I did buy her a Ferrari, which she clearly doesn't want."

"You've given her your love, Edward, and your loyalty. Isn't that what most people want out of life?"

"Only if it's mutual. Otherwise it's a nightmare."

"She loves you just as much as you love her," I countered. "She's proved that many times over."

"Her love is irrational," he said softly, once again dropping his head into his hands. "I've always known that."

"Is yours any different?"

His head jerked up. "Yes, it is. I love her because she's brave and beautiful and funny. She's kind and extremely smart, and she had insight even before she was a vampire that was clearly above the norm. "

I let him go on in that vein, thankful to have something positive flowing out of him, even if it was for someone else. When at last he started to repeat himself, I interrupted. "If she's all those things, and I'm sure she is, then what makes you think she'd be gullible enough to let you dazzle her into a relationship she didn't want? Do you really think you're that good at it?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. I never tried to that extent before, but it's the only explanation, when you consider some of the irrational things she's done."

"Like what, for instance?"

"Like what happened in Italy." A flicker of old pain crossed his face. "Have you forgotten how that came about? Sooner or later she's going to remember it. Possibly my finest hour," he said bitterly. "I lied to her – the biggest and most blatantly fictitious lie I've ever told anyone – but I made her believe it. I abandoned her in the woods, where anything might have happened to her.

"She spends months feeling miserable, because of me, and what's her response? She goes half way across the world to rescue me from myself. Is that the action of a rational person? Or more like someone hypnotized into obedience? I believe I used all three of my talents there – lying, manipulating and deceiving. She's three for three."

"You once thought she did it because she loved you so much."

"That's because I'm a conceited megalomaniac. Haven't you heard?"

"Only from you . . . and a few veiled innuendos from your wife."

He didn't smile. "She doesn't remember Renesmee. The only reason she could possibly resist the memory of her own child is that Nessie's mine as well. She can't bear the thought of something that's a part of me. I believe that speaks volumes about her feelings toward me."

I saw another way in despite his fatalistic attitude. "Surely, that should be our top priority here – restoring some normalcy to Renesmee's life. Whatever has caused all this, she doesn't deserve to suffer the consequences."

"I told her I'd fix it," Edward said, his voice almost a whisper. "She said something was wrong with momma. I don't know if it can be fixed or even if it should be. Am I just trying to arrange everything for my own selfish ends again? I can't tell anymore."

"Then focus on the one thing you're sure of. We need to get to the bottom of this for your daughter's sake. I'm afraid I've been going about it the wrong way. We couldn't come up with an actual cause for Bella's state of mind, so I concentrated on ways to relieve her symptoms. I thought there might be parallels in human pathology that could help me treat her, but nothing really fit.

"After what happened tonight, I'm more convinced than ever that conventional medicine doesn't hold the answer. I've never heard of this kind of emotional about-face, not without extensive physical trauma and that's out of the question here. Now I'm thinking we need to go back and determine the cause, if at all possible. I need you to help me with that, Edward."

"How?" he said and the word held more despair than hope.

"I think we should start with questioning Alice about exactly what she saw the day this all started. I'll talk to Bella and see if anything of significance has come back to her."

"Wait." He blinked, as if emerging from the blackness of his self-reproach. "Bella cannot stay at Charlie's. She needs to be here where you can look after her."

"It's not a good idea for Bella to be here, as long as she's so frightened of you. Even if you stay out of sight, I doubt that she'd agree to it."

"Then I'll leave," he said without hesitation. "Carlisle, do you honestly think I would ever risk seeing that look on her face again? For weeks, when we first met, I actively tried to make her afraid of me. It didn't work. I said things to her that would make most humans' blood run cold, but she didn't bat an eye. No matter how angry I've been, she's never once looked at me with fear – until today. It was . . . " His voice drifted off, but the anguish in his face spoke volumes.

"I understand, but that's not a solution, Edward. You need the support of your family, and we certainly don't want to be worrying about how you're doing."

In fact, for decades Esme and I had both dreaded a repeat of what had happened long ago, when Edward had vanished for years without a word. That period was – for all intents and purposes – his adolescence, the rebellious phase that had helped him mature into a responsible adult.

There had been other emotional crises, two in recent times, but he'd never again left us wondering what had become of him. I didn't think he'd put Esme through that again, not if he could control his impulses. My fear was that this blow to everything he cherished might compromise his control.

I found myself talking more quickly in an effort to forestall that option. "You have to stay close, Edward, so we can solve this thing together. I'm mired down in my own realm of expertise, and it's not showing much promise. I need someone who can think outside the box. How's your Hungarian?"

"What?" he blinked at me.

"The language – Magyar. I've been going through our history files, hoping to find something that might parallel Bella's condition. There was an immortal in Pest in the early 19th c who worked with newborns, much as Jasper did. He made extensive notes, not a word of which I can read. Could you take a look at it?"

"I can try," he said cautiously.

I spoke again before he could continue, determined to deflect him from talk of leaving. "Edward, all of us who care for you and Bella, who've watched your relationship grow, know full well that solving a problem for one of you is futile unless the solution finds you together. You need to be here so that – "

"Carlisle, I'm not going to do that." His tone was soft and unequivocal, more arresting than a shout.

"You're not going to . . .?" I shut my eyes. Of course. He had heard everything I was thinking, as clearly as what I was saying. He knew exactly where my fear lay.

"I made a promise to Bella – that I'd never abandon her again. I intend to keep that promise."

I opened my eyes to meet his, steady, despite the rain that coursed down his moon-white skin.

"I will always be close by to protect her, to come to her if she should want me. I only meant I'll stay away from the house, so she isn't frightened. You can assure her there will be no chance of an encounter."

"It's not right for you to have to leave your home."

"I won't." He said with the ghost of a smile. "I will be in my own home – with my daughter."

My personal fears had made me slow on the uptake. "Of course," I said, "the cottage. Bella seems to have forgotten it."

He grimaced. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

I ignored my own clumsiness and his reaction to it. "You're right. It's the perfect solution. Nessie needs you, and we can all come down and give you a hand."

Once again, I'd said the wrong thing. "I can take care of my own daughter," he growled.

"I know you can, but we don't want to be cut off from her either, and having the other people who love her around may make it easier to get through the time without her mother. We'll keep Bella safe and make sure she stays on this side of the river."

Edward was silent again, eyes lowered to the rain-washed path, seeing something much darker, I was certain.

"Whatever facts Bella may be using to justify her hostility," I reminded him, "you can't take what she's saying to heart. You know this isn't the way she truly feels. Until we figure out how things have gotten so warped, the best I can do is try to calm her down and convince her the anger isn't necessary."

"No!" His eyes snapped up to mine again. "Let her keep her anger, Carlisle. It's energizing. Without that . . . she may have nothing . . . nothing but fear . . . and . . . sadness. It could be like before . . . when I left. I won't have that."

My knowledge of Bella's condition during that dark time was secondhand, but it didn't take a psychiatrist to recognize that she'd been severely depressed. "Has she talked about that much?" I asked.

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Only to minimize it – for my sake, as usual, but I've seen what she was like through others' thoughts – Charlie for one, Sam Uley, her friends at school. And Jacob – he certainly never missed an opportunity to give me a vivid replay."

"Well, Jacob had his own agenda back then. You'd need to take his version with a grain of salt."

"Not true. Bella was at her most normal when she was with him. The rest of the time was . . ." His voice drifted off. He was looking inward again, heedless of the raindrops dotting his hair and lashes, like diamonds . . . or tears.

"There's something to what you say. If being angry gives her a sense of purpose, then you're right, it's better than withdrawal. I've felt all along we have to let her set the tone if we're going to get a hint of what's driving her. It just won't be easy if she persists in this delusion that you're out to hurt us all."

"What? You mean as opposed to showing you a good time like I am now?" His arch look took in our bleak surroundings, the two of us soaked to the skin. "Perhaps I should have invited the others."

I smiled. Sarcasm could be energizing too. "If you recall, I wasn't invited either. Strictly a party crasher here. Look, son, first thing in the morning I'm going to arrange for coverage at the hospital so we can brainstorm this problem together. And I'll bring you that Hungarian file." I rose, relieved when he did the same, and followed him up the steps to into the house, my hand on his shoulder.

"I apologize for the way I spoke to you back there," I said quietly, as the door closed behind us.

My deceitful, lying son answered with the perfect honesty that he fails to recognize as part of his nature. "Actually, Carlisle, I found it rather entertaining."

"I was afraid you'd say that. It was not the effect I intended. Why don't you try to relax – maybe play the piano for a while."

"The piano?" He looked at the object in question as if he had no idea of its purpose.

Of course.

When Edward's in a self-critical mode, he tends to deprive himself of every small pleasure that might alleviate his pain. It's one of the worst examples of a patient trying to heal himself that I've ever seen, but I was simply too emotionally exhausted to take him on about it.

"I'm sorry about your suit," I said, glancing at the puddle gathering on the floor from his bedraggled wool pants. "It was certainly a nice one."

He shrugged. "It didn't have the effect I intended. I'm going to change and spend the night in Nessie's room. Goodnight, Carlisle."

I snagged the throw rug with my foot, blotting up the evidence of our passing before it could do any damage, and went to find my wife. She met me at her studio door. Her lovely eyes were filled with anxiety as they scanned my face for clues to how my talk with Edward had gone.

"It was pretty quiet out there," she said, slipping her arms around my waist. "I didn't hear anything breaking."

"No. All his anger is inner-directed at the moment."

"Oh, dear, that could be worse."

I pulled her close. "There's no need to worry for now. He's gone to be with Nessie, and that will help keep his head on straight. He plans to take her back to the cottage, so we can bring Bella here." I stepped back, realizing she was getting soaked. "Sorry, let me get out of these wet things and find some dry ones."

"I'll go along with half that plan," she said with a suggestive smile. The woman's a genius when it comes to knowing what I need.

If only everything could be solved so easily, but it seemed that we were up against one of life's most unpleasant facts.

Sometimes love isn't all you need.


	15. Moss

Chapter 15

Moss

The morning sun was making its usual pitiful attempt to dispel the darkness when Alice's cell phone rang. She listened for a long time. "Yes, I know. Absolutely, it's perfect. We'll come up soon."

"That was Carlisle," she said, pocketing the phone. "He's taking a little time off from the hospital, so he can be around more. He'd like us to come up there when we're ready." She saw my expression and hastily added, "He's gone, Bella. It's perfectly safe."

"What do you mean 'he's gone'? Where did he go?"

"Does it matter? Honestly, you're awfully high-maintenance lately."

"I thought you said nobody would ask him to leave. Why would he just take off like that?"

Could it possibly be this easy? I hadn't come up with a single good idea for getting the Cullens safely away from whatever diabolical plot he was weaving around them, and now he was just . . . gone?

"I don't know," Alice said, clearly irritated. "Maybe he doesn't like people shrieking at the sight of him. Or maybe he didn't appreciate being treated like Satan in his own home. What difference does it make? You got what you wanted. Are you ready to go back to the house?"

"I guess." I'd never expected such an easy victory, but I didn't think Alice would be so annoyed with me if it wasn't true that he'd left. "Unless you want to stay and see if the molemen massacre the townspeople."

"It's fiction," she said reasonably, "the humans always win. Why don't you write a note for Charlie and put in some reminders of what can and can't be micro-waved. I'll make sure everything's locked up tight."

We were back in the Porsche in less than ten minutes. Alice drove conservatively, still mindful of the newly waxed finish. There were no cars parked in front of the Cullens' house.

I hesitated a little as we mounted the steps. I'd been so eager to get out of this place last night, and now here I was walking right back in. Was that really a smart decision?

_You can trust Alice_, I reminded myself, drawing in a dose of the heavy wet air. You can trust everyone who's here now.

"What am I supposed to say to them, Alice?"

"What do you think you should say?" she countered with the hint of a challenge in her tone.

She must have thought some sort of an apology was in order, and I _was_ sorry for upsetting everyone, but I didn't think that's what was bothering her. As my closest friend, Alice knew perfectly well that making a spectacle of myself was the last thing I'd ever want to do. No apologies necessary.

It was what I'd said about her brother – the one she thought of as her twin. That's what had hurt her, but I knew what I knew. I couldn't take back the words that might save them all if only they'd actually listen.

I glanced at the front door and back at Alice who stood looking at me with her lips pressed together. It was no use. My gut reaction, the truth of the frightening images that had rushed at me yesterday were genuine. I wasn't about to do anything to trivialize their warning, so I just looked back at her mutely.

"Well, don't say anything you don't mean," she said frostily and continued up the steps.

Behind her I muttered, "I wasn't planning on it."

My eyes went automatically to the place in the great room where he'd been standing last night. A pallid beam of sunlight marked the spot. For an instant, remembered panic stirred deep inside, but I tamped it down. There was nothing to fear in this room. Nothing threatened.

There was just . . . nothing.

I felt the edges of the great black hole in the center of my picture, flutter, as if it was flexing its power, preparing to draw me into the void. The last embers of terror flickered out to be replaced with a crushing sense of loss. I could feel my shoulders sag.

"Are you okay?" Alice said, instantly sympathetic again. "There's nothing here to hurt you. You don't have to be scared."

"I'm not," I said truthfully, and conjured up a faint smile. "You have to stop worrying about me."

To my relief, everyone greeted me casually. I'd been afraid they'd resent my presence, since it meant one of their family leaving, but maybe some of my warning had sunk in and they welcomed the distance. If so, it was worth coming off as a little rude. Nobody brought up yesterday, which was fine with me.

Carlisle wanted to go over the details of the afternoon I'd started feeling strange. Some of it was hazy, and none of it offered an explanation for how a strong new vampire like me could suddenly develop a glitch.

When he asked about the hiker in the woods, I could only say, "I can't recall the specifics of what he said. Just disconnected words – like ferns . . . and fishing, I think, and . . . pandas."

"Pandas," Carlisle echoed with a skeptical smile.

I laughed nervously. "Yeah, it doesn't make any sense, but truthfully that's the impression I got – that everything he said was just one big line of BS anyway."

He spoke to Alice separately. "I don't think it did any good," she said afterwards. "If only I hadn't been so distracted that day. I was trying to keep track of too many people. There must have been something that happened to you, something you don't remember.

"Whatever it was must have been horrible, and that fits, because it was the very first thing you forgot."

For a normal person, that might follow. People repressed traumatic experiences all the time, but in case she hadn't noticed, I was having no trouble at all remembering horrible events. It seemed to be my only strong point.

"It had to have happened quickly too," she went on, "because I really was checking on you regularly."

"It's not your fault, Alice. Even if you'd seen something like that, you wouldn't have been able to stop it."

"But we would know how it happened. I think Carlisle's relying on that as the key to the puzzle."

I certainly hoped he wasn't. I'd spent long hours trying to pinpoint some significant lost portion of that day, but it seemed all my time had been accounted for.

As the day wore on, nobody made the slightest reference to my meltdown. They absorbed me into the family as if I belonged there. I played video games with Emmett. He loves to win, and since it was all about reflexes, I could subtly let him take a round or two. He might have been a lot more suspicious if I'd thrown a game that relied on strength.

I watched TV with Alice and Rosalie, and pretended surprise when Esme pulled out drawings of the conservatory. She even managed to make me feel useful, explaining the intricate details of her drawings and teaching me how to help her check the specs.

With no sleeping or meals to divide the time, one day slipped almost imperceptibly into the next.

I cornered Jasper one afternoon to pick his brain about young vampires. "Everyone says you have the most experience with newborns," I told him. "Did you ever see one who had some kind of mental problem?"

"Uh . . . all of them?" He looked at me a little tentatively, like I might go bananas at any moment, or maybe he was just feeling awkward about having thrown me into a wall.

"I mean with memory problems, like they couldn't figure out who they were."

"Bella, every newborn vamp's like that . . . well, most of them. The human memories get really vague, and mostly they don't care. They just want to feed."

"Right." Another dead end.

Alice had unearthed a camera that shot old black and white film. She insisted I go traipsing through the forest with her to take artistic pictures of – what else – green things.

"This could be really stunning in the dining room, I think," she announced, making a frame of her fingers and thumbs and squinting through it. Her chosen subject looked just exactly like every other limp piece of moss hanging around for hundreds of miles.

"Why moss, Alice? It's not like we're going to forget what it looks like."

"The idea," she said, snapping away, "Is to find the beauty in commonplace things. It's enriching, like poetry or music or a really great pair of Jimmy Choos." She shot a few more frames and turned to me. "We need to find you a hobby."

"I have one," I protested. "I'm trying to get my mind straightened out. It's a full-time job."

"If it's a job, it's not a hobby." She linked her arm through mine and flashed her pixie smile. "You know, now that you're immortal, you could take up any interest in the world. Anything, Bella, just think of it."

Usually, Alice's enthusiasm is contagious, but I couldn't share it. All those things the Cullens did for fun were just that – hobbies. The real meaning in their lives came from each other.

They were nice enough to pull me into their games and interests, but afterwards they each returned to the person they loved. I had no one and, as far as I could see, no real purpose to my existence, kind of like the moss that clung listlessly to more energetic things.

Oh, yuck, if I got any deeper into the self-pity thing, I might as well just go drape myself over a tree branch and be done with it. There must be something I felt passionate about. Alice had all kinds of passions. Until I figured out what mine was, it wouldn't hurt to give her a hand with one of hers.

I headed for the back stairs and the mysterious underworld of the Cullens' basement, where Alice had set up a darkroom.

I smelled it before I could see it. The pungent chemicals nearly set my throat on fire before I remembered to quit breathing. Maybe watching the photographs develop would kick-start the blank places in my brain. Maybe I'd just pass out from the fumes.

Could vampires even pass out? Or would toxic chemicals simply cause us discomfort? Pepper spray sure wouldn't do anything.

Pepper spray?

I paused on the stairs, wondering where that came from, only to be assaulted by a series of images crashing hard into each other as if they'd been piled up behind a door in my consciousness just waiting to burst through.

I grasped the railing, almost stumbling from the force of the onslaught. Minutes passed while I tried to make sense of the memories and then I was barreling into the darkroom, practically shouting, "Alice, I've remembered something!"

Even in the dim reddish light. I could see the elation in her face as she turned to me. "Oh, thank goodness! Tell me what – is it about Edward?"

"Yes," I hissed. "Charlie was on to him from the very beginning, wasn't he?"

"On to him?" She said stiffly, the enthusiasm draining from her expression. "What do you mean 'on to him.'?"

"He knew Edward was bad for me – that he'd lead me to make all the wrong decisions. He even gave me pepper spray to protect myself, like that would do any good. And I was awful to him, Alice. I said terrible, hurtful things just so I could sneak off with Edward. I disappeared for days at a time. I lied to him.

"No wonder he was always pushing me to spend time with my other friends –normal people who'd just let me be myself. Even after I ended up in the hospital, I still wouldn't listen to Charlie. I acted like a complete selfish, teenaged brat!"

Alice's lips had compressed as she listened, like someone being subjected to an offensive joke, but now she interrupted.

"Bella, you're only looking at one side of the situation. There were reasons you did what you did – good reasons."

"So good, I can't even remember them? Believe me, Alice, it's no fun to find out you're a terrible person, but I guess it's better to know now, so I can try and make it up to him."

"Wait," she said sharply. "Bella, what are you planning to do?" She looked truly worried, as if my revelation might lead to further disasters.

"This changes everything," I said. "I know I have no right to ask you, but I'm so . . . tired, so confused . . . I don't think I could handle it right now."

"What?" she persisted, grabbing my arms. "You have to tell me."

I was not only an ungrateful daughter but a total coward too. "You've all been so great having me here while I'm going through whatever it is I'm going through, and I know I haven't been a fun guest, but do you think I could stay a while longer – maybe even a week, just until I get some confidence back?"

"What?" she said again. Clearly, that was not what she'd expected to hear.

"I know it's presumptuous and rude to ask, but I just don't think I'm ready to face Charlie's I-told-you-so's. Even if he can keep from saying it, he'll be thinking it, and I can't blame him. I owe him a huge apology, and I'll make it, but right now I'm not sure I have the strength or the . . . the clarity . . . to do it justice. If I tell him what a monster Edward really is–"

"Oh, sweetie!" Alice cut me off, wrapping her arms around me. "Of course, you can stay. You can stay forever. You're right – this is no time to be bugging Charlie with horror stories about my brother. You need to rest and let us take care of you."

"You don't think Carlisle and Esme will mind?"

"Bella, there really is something seriously wrong with your brain if you can think that. Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not ridiculous – just chicken, but thanks, Alice. I really appreciate it. The thing is I don't know what to say to Charlie when he calls."

"Let me take care of that. I'll think of something. Oh, wait – I already have!" As usual she sounded delighted with her own ingenuity. "Charlie likes me, you know. Even when he was suspicious of Edward, he was always perfectly friendly to me." She paused, considering. "You know, I think I really may be the better liar. Edward would argue with me, of course, but–"

This time she cut herself off, realizing the subject was not likely to soothe my rattled nerves. "Nevermind. I'll phone Charlie myself and mention that you two have gone away on a little trip."

"No!" I protested. "That will upset him even more."

"I don't think so, Bella. It's what he's used to. He'll expect it."

Way to pile the guilt on, Alice, I thought glumly. So I'd run off with Edward more than once. Poor Charlie, but I said, "If you really think that's the best way."

"Trust me, it is," she said with total confidence. "Now let me just finish up here, and we'll go and do something fun."

A few minutes later we emerged from the darkroom, and for the first time I took notice of our surroundings. "This is a weird basement," I remarked. "It's so clean."

"You don't remember anything about it?"

I shook my head. "No, nothing."

"Well, let me give you the grand tour then."

I think subconsciously the low hum down here had made me think of a furnace or air conditioner, but of course, the Cullens didn't need either.

"It's for the oil paintings," Alice explained. "69.8 degrees and 45% humidity rain or shine."

"You have paintings down here?"

She gave me a peculiar look. "It's very weird, the things you do and don't remember. I don't understand it."

"Don't feel bad. Nobody else does either. So what else do you keep here?"

She led me down the bright corridor that bisected the length of the house, pointing out the regular doors on one side, where less valuable items were kept, and the steel doors on the other. She entered a code to open one of these and the room automatically flooded with light. Rows of framed pictures stood upright in their racks. I looked at Alice in amazement, but she only shrugged.

Other chambers held sculptures and antique furniture, even musical instruments. At the end of the corridor loomed a foreboding dark shape. "What is that?" I asked.

"Kind of a tomb," Alice said matter-of-factly. "It's really quite beautiful if you look at it close up." She gave me a questioning glance, as if I might not be up to such a venture, but I moved ahead of her to take in the exquisitely carved figure of a knight, lying in repose, a long sword clutched in his hands.

"He's not in there," she added, no doubt fearing another freak out. "His name was Galfridus, and before you ask, I have no idea what happened to him. I suspect it was something heroic since he rated such a fancy resting place, but most of the inscription's worn off. Now it's just a good place to hide things. I don't know how many humans it would take to remove that lid."

"So you hide valuables in it?"

"Not really. Mostly presents for Emmett."

"Oh, come on, Emmett wouldn't have any trouble taking that lid off."

"Of course not, but he wouldn't dare. He's totally spooked by the thing."

"I didn't think Emmett was afraid of anything."

"He's not – not anything real. It's the stuff he imagines that scares him."

I laughed. "I find that hard to believe."

Alice looked pleased that she'd coaxed some lightness into my mood. "Seriously, I wouldn't be surprised if Rose doesn't have to check under the bed for boogie men. He has the imagination of a five-year-old."

I was still grinning when I noticed the other huge object at this end of the basement – a vault, big enough to walk into, like a bank would have. "What's in there?"

"Oh, nothing you'd want to see," Alice said dismissively.

"Why? Is that where you stuffed Galfridus?"

"No, that at least would be interesting in a macabre sort of way. Just assets, really boring, easily liquidated assets."

"Oh." There didn't seem to be much to add to that. The message was that the Cullens were insanely well off. We headed for the stairs, and I just had to ask. "At the risk of being nosy, what do you guys do with all that money?"

"Bella, you're anything but nosy. You have every right to know. After all, it's–" Whatever "it" was, she dropped the explanation and continued. "There's the cars, of course, our most conspicuous indulgence, and the hospital has a way of getting the latest equipment."

"Carlisle does that?"

"Not personally, no. They're lucky enough to have an anonymous benefactor, and I suspect the board's too grateful to spend much time delving into who that might be. I mean, Forks has a sleep disorder clinic, for crying out loud. How many small-town hospitals can say the same?"

"I never thought of that," I admitted. "Is that some kind of in-joke?"

"To us, maybe." Alice laughed. "Carlisle wouldn't have funded it if he didn't think it would help people. And the rest of the money, we just save – for a rainy day, I guess."

"Well, gee, I wonder when that will happen." We emerged onto the first floor to find the window wall streaming with rain, as if the whole house were hidden behind a waterfall.

"I'm going to call Charlie and put out that fire before it starts. Why don't you get some rest, Bella?"

Rest? I bet nobody told other vampires to rest. I suspected it was a well-meant euphemism for "Go somewhere and focus on getting your act back together."

But the fact was, I did feel tired – all the time. It wasn't a physical tiredness, more like mental exhaustion from trying so hard to feel like myself again, whatever that might turn out to be.

I'd always taken refuge in books, and that was a human habit that looked like it was here to stay. The problem was that just when I was getting into a story, someone would invariably insist they needed my help with a project or a partner for some game they were playing. I knew they were only trying to make me feel like part of the family, but I longed for the predictability of my old favorites. Plots that made sense. Endings you could count on.

Emma Bovary had fulfilled her tragic destiny. I'd already done a reread of _Pride and Prejudice_ and was now back to another old friend, _Jane Eyre_.

I was curled up in my favorite chair following Jane's passage from student to teacher, when a huge shape loomed over me.

"You know, you don't have to do that," Emmett said.

I looked up, surprised. I was pretty sure I wasn't doing much of anything. "What do you mean?"

"Read so slow – like a page at a time. You could rip right through that book and get it over with."

"Uh . . . I don't particularly want to get it over with. I'm enjoying it."

"Sure, I know, but the thing is you'd still take in the whole story. Your vamp brain would record everything just the same as if you slogged through every word. I'm surprised Ed - . . . surprised somebody didn't teach you that. I'll be glad to show you how, if you want."

I knew perfectly well what he'd been about to say. So that's what Edward would do – get it over with. Why was I surprised? He probably zipped through Machiavelli once a day just to keep his edge.

"I enjoy taking it slow, Emmett, feeling like I'm there in the place they describe. I like to experience the same suspense the characters are feeling."

"Well, I'm just sayin', you could do it quicker is all."

Apparently, he saw my reading style as one more symptom of my mental limitations, but it was endearing, the way he really wanted to help.

"What if the next time you watch a basketball game, you just fast forward the whole thing? You'd still see every play, but it would be finished in a few minutes. Would you still enjoy it as much?"

A grin spread slowly across his face. "Oh, I get it. You sure think clearly for a newborn."

If only that were true. "But if I ever need to read something dry and boring, I'd really appreciate your help."

"You got it. I'm available 24/7."

Emmett went on his merry way, and I returned to Lowood School. The fateful letter arrived offering Jane a post at Thornfield Manor. It was one of the first choices in her power to make and one that would lead her into a life she had never imagined.

Most of my favorite books had a similar theme – a young woman choosing her path in life. Up to now I'd always identified with the heroine – Elizabeth Bennett or Jane, even Emma Bovary with her longing to escape her humdrum existence, but now, knowing what kind of person I'd become, how badly I'd chosen, I wondered if I was looking at the wrong characters.

I wasn't Lizzie. I was silly, gullible Lydia running off with the deceptively charming Wickham, not Jane Eyre but the crazy woman locked up in the attic cackling maniacally and threatening to destroy the peace and happiness of everyone else in the household.

The more I found out about myself, the less familiar I seemed, which only made me feel worse rather than better and guilty because I knew how much everyone – especially Carlisle – was counting on some kind of breakthrough. I must seem like some lame scientific experiment to them, one that refused to produce the expected results.

But I couldn't let that matter. What mattered was that I was keeping them safe whether they believed it or not. I should try and be a more pleasant guest before they decided to chuck the whole project and make a volcano out of baking soda and vinegar instead.

I resisted the urge to retreat into books exclusively, vaguely aware that keeping one foot in real life was probably necessary if I ever wanted to be mentally healthy again. At home – both with Renee and Charlie – I'd spent a lot of my time in the kitchen. Kitchens were friendly places, unpretentious and comforting.

Of course, with no cooking or eating going on, the Cullens' version was a little short on that kind of warmth. On the other hand, I was pretty sure no one would mind if I did a little cleaning and reorganizing. It was interesting to see what kind of things they'd bought to sustain their human image. I doubted many households in Forks had both grapefruit spoons and fish forks in their cutlery drawers.

I'd just tucked a bread maker up on a high shelf, confident that it had never been taken out of the box, when Alice interrupted.

"You get to be the first to see it," she said, almost shimmering with excitement. In her hand was a large rectangle of paper that she held gingerly at the corners.

"What is it?"

"A photograph, of course."

I jumped down from the counter, unconsciously backing away from her. "No, Alice. No photographs – please."

"It's not that kind of picture, silly. Here." She thrust it at me, and I had no choice but to look at it.

No, it wasn't that kind of picture at all. It was more of a design really, a few vertical lines in shades from deep black to palest gray. On closer inspection, they weren't just lines but complex designs in themselves. Intriguing and pleasing in some indefinable way. "What is it?" I asked.

"It's moss!" Alice crowed with all the pride of someone who's just snapped Big Foot in the wild. "I'm still learning the fine points of dodging and burning, but I thought it turned out very well."

Dodging and burning? "I like it," I said sincerely. "It's actually beautiful."

"Super! I knew if you liked it, anyone would. I'm off to show the others."

Her happiness made me smile. I should probably attempt to do that more often, because it sounded like I was the negative end of the spectrum around here. I wished I could explain that it wasn't so much negativity, but blankness that defined me these days.

So much of me was missing.

I could hear Esme upstairs enthusing over the picture. "It's exquisite, darling. I can't wait to get it matted and framed. Are there more?"

Of course, there were more, and when Alice got mossed out, she switched to portraits, popping up everywhere when you least wanted to see her. "Just continue what you're doing," she'd say. "These are supposed to be candids."

It didn't take her long to figure out that her new subjects were a lot less cooperative than the moss had been. Rosalie screeched every time Alice snapped her unawares and ran off to fix her already flawless makeup, demanding a retake. Emmett flexed in unlikely, if impressive, poses whenever he saw her coming.

She caught Jasper one day stretched out on the white sofa, leaning on one elbow.

"That's a good one, Alice," I said, egging her on.

"It won't come out, darlin'," he warned her lazily. "Vampires can't be captured on film."

"That's a very old-fashioned concept," she said, snapping away.

"I'm a real old-fashioned guy."

"Well, we'll just have to see, won't we?" she said, swooping down to kiss his nose before turning her sites on me.

"No, Alice – uh-uh. You know I'm a mess." I kind of was. There didn't seem a lot of point in paying attention to how I looked. I mostly pulled my hair through a rubber band and let it go at that.

"When are you going to realize, you're beautiful?" she admonished, still clicking. "You'd look great even with a paper bag over your head."

"My feelings exactly," I said, as Jasper broke out laughing.

"You sure know how to pay a compliment, sweetheart."

"That didn't come out right," she admitted, fighting a smile. "But I'm going to prove it to you, Bella – the fact that you're beautiful, I mean."

She showed up with the so-called proof a few hours later. "There," she said, laying the picture in my hands. "You look like a supermodel."

I could almost see her point. Not the beauty so much as the boredom, the empty look in my eyes. "Why do models always have to look like they couldn't care less?" I asked her.

"Because they're too cool for school, of course," she said dismissively. "And look at this one I took of Carlisle. I think it's pretty good."

"Whoa, this is great, Alice. Did he pose for it?"

"Nope. He just let me hang around his study while he was working."

"It's really handsome. It reminds me of those old-time pictures of movie stars – so dramatic with all the light and shadows."

"That's what I'm going for, but it's harder without an actual studio setup."

"Is that your next project?" I asked warily.

"No, definitely not. I want them candid and real, only with that same kind of mood."

"You should try Photoshop." That was Emmett, briefly pulling his attention away from the TV to share his wisdom.

Alice rolled her eyes.

Watching her, I couldn't help but feel envious. She enjoyed her hobbies so much. They gave her a sense of fulfillment. I'd give anything to feel like that, but apparently I was not only the most negative person in the household but the dullest.

It was a wonder they put up with me. Did it all go back to the reason I was one of them? I knew this was what I was supposed to be – a vampire. It was one of the few certainties I clung to, but how had I gotten this way?

Every time I tried to remember, the black hole winked at me, trying to draw me closer. Bad memories there. Very bad. What was left of my mind, the part responsible for self-preservation, would never let me near them.

Of course, the change had been painful and traumatic. There was no way around that. What puzzled me was that my brain seemed crammed with horrible, hurtful memories it was only too pleased to show me, so why not that one? It didn't make sense.

I wondered which of the Cullens had changed me. Carlisle had the most experience for sure, but my money was on Alice. I did feel a special bond with her, and it seemed like that might follow if you were eager for the transformation.

Mostly, I felt guilty that I couldn't solve my own problem, that I couldn't put enough pieces of the puzzle together to function like I should. It got worse one night when I was passing Esme's room and heard Carlisle's voice.

"The situation is untenable. It's hurting too many people we love."

"Sweetheart, you're doing all you can. You can't blame yourself if the explanation isn't easy to find."

"The problem is we're running out of places to look. That history from Hungary? All the observations were nearly identical to Jasper's, nothing new at all. Of course, it doesn't help that no one ever regarded the newborns as people. They were just weapons to be used and discarded. I can't help feeling discouraged sometimes that in all my centuries on this earth humans haven't managed to become more human."

It was unsettling to hear Carlisle talk that way. I shouldn't be listening at all, but I couldn't get myself to move.

"Maybe it's just happening very slowly," Esme said, "like most things in nature. Think of how long slavery was an accepted practice."

"It's still going on in some places," Carlisle pointed out.

"Yes, but it's not widely accepted, and I always thought it was interesting that people who owned slaves thought of them as animals or subhuman in some way. They had to do that in order to justify their own behavior, because somewhere inside there was a spark of humanity telling them it was wrong. Maybe that spark is evolving and eventually people won't be capable of cruelty at all."

"Your ability to find the good in things never ceases to amaze me."

"It's only because I believe it's there – in everything – if you just take the time to look for it."

"You know, I'm convinced you're farther along the evolutionary scale than I am."

"Well, of course, I am," Esme said, laughing. "I'm a woman."

Carlisle murmured something I couldn't hear and then added, "Forgive the negativity. It's just frustrating to have so many years of experience and knowledge and still not be able to help one of our own. I feel sometimes as if I'm losing a patient."

"You're not losing her," Esme almost crooned. "She's here, where we can keep her safe until something happens to show us the way. We have to have faith that it will."

I hurried on then and spent a determined but fruitless night doubling my efforts to get in touch with myself. It was like trying to force a square peg into a round hole. Not only could I not find a place to put me in the picture, I couldn't even find a piece that looked like me.

When Alice asked me to watch a movie with her the next day, I had to pretend enthusiasm. I joined her on the long sofa that faced the Cullens' enormous flat screen. Jasper sat on the floor leaning against her knees. On her right, Emmett was sprawled with Rosalie tucked under one arm.

Talk about a fifth wheel. They were all so couple-ly.

Could that be a reason I'd used such poor judgment in hooking up with Edward? Had I wanted to be a part of this special family so much that I'd overlooked the danger signals? It didn't seem like me, but I wasn't turning out to be much of an expert on that particular subject.

"It's called _War of the Wizards_," Emmett explained. "And it's animated."

Sounded more like a video game than a movie, I thought, which explained his excitement. Right from the beginning, I just couldn't get into the story. Too farfetched maybe? But my vampire eyes were pleasantly distracted by the vivid colors and shapes, so distinct down to each individual pixel.

I was actually enjoying myself until midway through the film when the abstract forms suddenly took on a sinister shape. The evil wizard stood over his helpless victim, slowly raising a silver dagger in both gnarled hands, a diabolical sneer on his cold face.

I shut my eyes. From out of nowhere came those same images that had overwhelmed me when Alice had shown me the photo of her brothers. Not images at all, really. They weren't visual, just impressions of unrelenting pain and razor-sharp teeth at my throat, my wrists, my ankles.

Every nerve ending was on fire. I could hear my bones breaking, and I tried so hard to shrink into the farthest corner of my mind, away from the agony that wouldn't allow me to find oblivion.

Through slitted eyes, I saw my tormenter – not the cartoon wizard – but the demon, his pale, sinewy arms raised above me, the planes and curves of his face alive with a stark and terrible beauty. Utterly intent and single-minded, he lifted the gleaming weapon higher and plunged it toward my helpless body.

I let out an involuntary sound – half gasp, half shriek – and Alice snapped to attention. "What happened?" she asked, anxiously, turning to grab my hand.

"It's okay, Bella," Emmett said, leaning across her. "He's still got the amulet. Nothing's gonna hurt him."

"Be quiet, Em." Alice ordered. "What's the matter, honey? Is it another bad memory?"

"I . . . no . . . no, just a false alarm. Sorry."

It wasn't a memory. It couldn't be. If the demon had actually done what I'd seen in my mind's eye, I'd be dead now, because those were human images. I could tell the way their indistinctness kept me from really experiencing the pain. I just knew it had been bad.

And why would he want to kill me anyhow? Was I balking at his control? That didn't mean I had a chance in hell of breaking it. And if I had outlived my usefulness to him, he could have ended it with a flick of his wrist. Why the melodramatic dagger routine?

A whole new kind of confusion swept over me. It couldn't have been real. Neither could the bizarre sensation that my bones were breaking. Even my sadistic visions didn't claim he was responsible for that.

Was it possible that none of the brutality I'd conjured up was real?

No. That didn't compute either. There were all the non-denials from the Cullens about his killing people and wanting to kill me. There was my own rebellion against Charlie and good sense that could only have been orchestrated by him.

The movie ended and Rosalie got up to change the DVD. "You'll like this one way better," she directed at me. "_Casablanca_."

"I better go see if Carlisle needs any help with that generator," Emmett said, attempting to rise from the sofa. Jasper immediately leapt to his feet.

"Nobody moves," Rose barked, shoving Emmett back down and glaring at Jasper until he took his seat again. Alice patted his head in approval. "We had a deal. We watch the wizards with you; you watch the tear-jerker with us."

"Any chance it will have some juicy sex scenes this time around?" Emmett asked hopefully.

"Well, it hasn't had the last few times I made you watch it, so I wouldn't get my hopes up. It does put me in a very romantic mood though." She snuggled up to him, running her hand appreciatively over his chest. "It always reminds me of how lucky I am to be with the man I love."

Emmett fell for that one, and we all settled in again. This one was easier to watch. I felt absolutely no associations with a story of unselfish love, except to view it with wistful envy.

The black and white picture wasn't nearly as mesmerizing to my sharply tuned eyes, so I was free to ponder the latest wrinkle in my mental state. Where did the real memories leave off and the false ones begin?

By the time Bogie had established they'd "always have Paris," I was no closer to finding that dividing line. Through the long night and a surly gray morning with rain spitting at the windows, nothing seemed any clearer.

Esme asked me to help in her attempt to cheer the place up with flowers from the greenhouse. How in the world had she made tulips bloom? Chalk up a green thumb among her many creative talents.

"Do you think these need some greenery?" I asked.

"I think they look absolutely perfect."

Actually, I did too. They were yellow, some of them standing straight up, others nodding slightly in a graceful bow. I centered them just so and stood back to admire the effect.

Another memory tried to push its way onto the HD screen in my head. Ice. I was falling through ice. I could see the shards tumbling past me. One of them sliced into my arm.

What ice? Where?

"Esme," I said, endeavoring to keep my voice steady, "has this table always been here?"

"Mm, for quite a while, yes." She sounded distracted, still arranging a bowl of roses on the grand piano.

And as if someone had pushed the rewind button, the scene went backwards in my head – from me crashing into a table laden with goblets and plates to my startled flight to the one who'd shoved me so hard I'd literally flown across the room.

It was him.

I couldn't think of him as anything but the demon, dominating the large space merely with his presence, his stunning good looks. There was something wild in his eyes, and he'd done it on purpose – hurled me into that table with no more effort or thought than he would have given to swatting a fly.

A low moan escaped me, and I clutched myself, as if my body might suddenly scatter like my thoughts.

"Bella? Sweetheart?" Esme was beside me in an instant, putting her arm around me, helping me to a chair as if I was some feeble human. "What is it?"

"He did it," I croaked. "Edward. He threw me into all that glass, and it wasn't an accident. He meant to do it."

I looked down at my arm, remembering the blood, expecting to see a scar. If it was there, it was hidden by my sweater. "I know you don't want to believe me, Esme, but it's true." I had to make her see, make them all see what he was really capable of.

Her expression was troubled as she studied my face for a long minute. Maybe this was just another false memory. It seemed completely real, but so had the idea of his stabbing me in the heart; so had my bones breaking though he hadn't touched me.

Suddenly, I longed for her denial, wished she could say something that would convince me none of my vicious recollections were true and I was just plain garden-variety crazy.

"I know he did, sweetheart," she said softly. "I was there. We all were."

I stared at her. Half of me had been hoping for denial, and half wished that she'd finally believe me and realize the danger Edward posed to them all. I hadn't imagined she could know I was telling the truth and not . . . not even care.

"He overreacted," she said, as if he'd raised his voice to someone or spoken out of turn.

"Overreacted? He could have killed me!"

"Well, perhaps 'overreacted' is the wrong word. He had to act quickly, and he didn't have time to consider how fragile you were."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Sweet, sympathetic Esme, making excuses for life-endangering behavior, rationalizing her way out of thinking badly of her youngest child. Is that what the mothers of serial-killers did when faced with the evidence of their slaughter? Maybe they all said, "But he's really a good boy at heart."

She was still talking, but I'd tuned her out. People believe what they want to believe, someone had once told me. I couldn't remember who, but the truth of that theory was staring me in the face. The Cullens were still going out of their way to justify the behavior of their biggest threat.

But I was in no position to cast stones. If I hadn't been so easily fooled, so eager to overlook what should have been obvious in the way he treated me, none of this could have happened.

I'd seen the talk shows about abused women and wondered why they didn't simply walk away, but apparently it was a lot more complicated than that and different from the inside.

"Aren't you ever afraid of him?" I asked Esme, interrupting.

"Of him, no. For him, yes. He takes everything so much to heart. Every time he makes a mistake or isn't as strong as he thinks he should be, he's terribly hard on himself. His standards are set so impossibly high."

Her voice was almost pleading. Her anxious expression begged me to commiserate, but I couldn't do it. I could only thank whatever quirk of wiring in my newly minted brain had allowed me to see things as they really were.

I wasn't going to get any help from the Cullens saving them from themselves. What I needed was somebody outside the family, someone who could be capable of viewing Edward objectively, but who didn't pose a threat to vampires in general and the Cullens in particular.

That was a tall order. Either you knew about vampires or you didn't, and if you did, chances weren't great that you'd differentiate between good ones and bad ones. Still, I couldn't help feeling that there was such a person, someone uniquely qualified to make that distinction.

Wishful thinking? Apparently, because I couldn't come up with a single candidate who fit that unique description.

"So you see," Esme was saying, "Hurting you was the last thing he intended. He saw certain death approaching and defended you the fastest way he could."

I brought my attention back to her face, still so filled with concern for me even as she continued downplaying her son's guilt. She honestly believed that the demon's violent means of defense was preferable to whatever else was coming at me. What could it have been – a heat-seeking missile?

For the first time, I saw the downside of Esme's gift. Was it really an advantage to see that bright spark of goodness if it blinded you to the darkness – the danger, the threats? Her vulnerability touched me, and I put my arms around her, wanting suddenly to comfort and protect her.

"It doesn't matter," I heard myself saying softly. "That's all in the past anyway. Over and done with . . . forever."


	16. Friendship

Chapter 16

Friendship

After that day, I resisted most of their efforts to get me to join them in one pursuit or another. We still hunted together, and I tried to make myself useful wherever I could, but everything else seemed pointless.

I spent most of my time reading or just staring off into space. I'd given up trying to fill in the blank part of the puzzle that was my life, afraid of what might fit there. So far, I hadn't particularly liked what I'd learned about myself. Chances are it would only get worse.

But let them believe my purpose in being here was to recover my lost memories. I knew what my greater purpose was, even if they couldn't accept it.

As long as I was here, he would stay away. As long as he stayed away, they would be safe. It would have to be enough until I found a way to make them see the threat he posed to them all.

Even knowing I was doing the right thing, the only thing in my power I could do to protect them, didn't make the job any easier. Depression replaced the initial fear and anger, spreading from my mind to every part of my body, deadening the nerves, sapping my energy, until it seemed my only option was to wait for the black void to swallow me and put an end to it.

I'm sure they noticed, but nobody went beyond inviting me to take part in whatever they were doing. No doubt, Carlisle still had his "no pressuring Bella" rule in place. Once I became sedentary though, I noticed something that hadn't registered before.

The Cullens were awfully restless for vampires.

Somebody was always going out or coming back home. Carlisle, I knew, still checked in at the hospital periodically when he wasn't in his study trying to figure out what my problem was.

But the others might leave alone or in pairs and come back an hour or more later without ever mentioning a thing about where they'd gone or what they'd been doing. After a while, it occurred to me that these outings were seldom accompanied by the sound of a car leaving the huge garage.

So what was there to do out there in the woods? Hike? Hunt? It seemed very odd, but the lethargy that had crept over me lately didn't let me move beyond curiosity.

The one constant in my day was my time with Carlisle. Without that obligation, I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever move at all. Sometimes we met in his study; sometimes we'd go for a walk. He didn't pressure me to remember anything else, and he didn't try to sway my opinion of Edward.

I figured he was monitoring my state of mind, but I couldn't resent it. I'd taken up residence in his house and disrupted his family with my mental turmoil. It was a miracle he still gave me houseroom. He had to be frustrated by his inability to change or even understand my condition.

Little we talked about had much to do with the present situation. Carlisle had been alive for centuries. He had a wealth of fascinating stories. Unlike most people he didn't make himself the center of the stories he told, instead describing the people he'd met and how they weren't all that different from us, despite their very different circumstances. I didn't recall him ever sharing these glimpses of history before. Maybe he only pulled them out for patients who'd lost interest in their own lives.

One day I got up the nerve to ask, "Why did you stop trying to convince me that Edward's a good guy?"

We were walking through the forest. The weather had been unnaturally rain-free for several days, so that dry leaves occasionally crackled under our feet. We both had our hands in our pockets – mine in my old anorak, Carlisle's in a creamy lambskin jacket that made him look like a model.

He smiled. "When you've been around a while, you'll start seeing parallels in people you meet."

"You've known somebody like me?"

"Surprisingly, yes."

"Why are you surprised? Am I all that weird?"

"No," he said with a laugh, "but if you consider your backgrounds, the kind of experiences you've had, they couldn't be more different. Yet, there are similarities."

"Like what, for instance?"

"Well, for one thing you're both very bright."

"Uh . . . wait right there." I put one finger up to discourage this line of thinking. "I did okay in school, but I was never at the top of my class. In fact, I've never been particularly good at anything."

"There are other ways to measure intelligence," Carlisle said confidently. "Insight, for example."

"My mom's insightful in a funny kind of way," I offered, "but I'm not very much like her."

"I'll bet you're a good judge of character though."

I thought about that. "Maybe. When you're quiet, you can't help spending a lot of time observing other people. You notice things about them."

Clearly, I'd slipped up big time at least once, but I didn't want to make Carlisle unhappy by mentioning it again.

"Like the person you remind me of," he said. "I always thought because he was intelligent that the way to convince him of something was through logic. It seldom seemed to work that way. Finally, I realized there were such deep emotions beneath every important thought he had that I couldn't hope to persuade him through reason alone, and it's almost impossible to argue with feelings. I think I'm up against the same thing with you."

"Well, I have been known to cry at commercials," I conceded, "but only when I'm alone. Showing your emotions . . ." I shuddered. "It just calls too much attention to yourself. It's embarrassing." After a minute, I added, "That's why you aren't going to try to change my mind . . . about Edward?"

"Pretty much," he smiled.

"So what happened to him – this guy who reminded you of me? How did his life turn out?" I frowned up at him, but his face was in profile. I couldn't really read the emotion there.

And all he said was, "I'm afraid I don't know yet."

Weird things kept happening.

I was down in the greenhouse, visiting my cactus. I hoped it wasn't just wishful thinking that told me it looked perkier. There was a flat I hadn't noticed before, crowded with healthy looking seedlings that seemed vaguely familiar. Beans. I remembered them from my Gran's vegetable garden. Was Esme seriously trying to grow crops in here?

I was about to turn away when something shiny caught my eye nestled behind the bean field. I reached back and pulled out a wad of purple velvet. No, it was more like a little bundle tied with a golden cord. That's what had drawn my attention. How on earth did it get here?

The mystery only deepened when I tugged on the string and the fabric fell open to reveal a perfect little replica of a grandfather clock. It looked like it belonged in a dollhouse, but as far as I knew, even with all their interests, none of the Cullens played with dolls.

I took it to Esme, and after a brief look of surprise, she simply said, "Oh, look at that! Thank you, Bella. I'll take care of it."

She'd "take care of it"?

It was clearly the only explanation I was going to get. Weirder still was Rosalie's reaction one evening when she decided to play the piano. I couldn't ever remember hearing her play before, which didn't really mean much. It might just be one more piece of my puzzle that I'd managed to lose.

She was really good. My book lay unread in my lap, while she played piece after piece. I didn't interrupt for fear she'd become self-conscious and stop, but I planned to tell her how great I thought it was when she finished. She played something really pretty, Chopin, I thought. Like I would know. Afterwards, she stood and put the sheet music into the piano bench.

I saw her hesitate and slowly pull out what looked like a scroll tied with ribbon. She slipped it off and not one, but several sheets of paper unfurled in her hands. Then she just stared. Incredibly, her lip appeared to quiver. I had never seen that much pure emotion on Rose's haughty face. She looked for all the world like she was going to cry.

"Rosalie, are you all right?"

She raised her eyes to mine and in an instant their expression changed from sad to hostile. "Sure, Bella. Everything's just hunky-dory. Thanks ever so much for asking!"

She whirled and left the room, leaving me stunned. What had I done? She hadn't given me a look that hateful since . . . well, a really long time ago.

"Thought Rose was tickling the ivories," Emmett said, entering too late. "Where'd she go?"

"I don't know. I think I must have made her angry."

"Well, that's not too hard to do," he grinned. "Don't worry about it, Bella. This is a job for Super Em."

"Yeah, good luck with that," I muttered as he left the room, cracking his knuckles in anticipation of God knows what.

Then there were random snippets of conversation that didn't seem to go with anything. I was in a good position to catch them due to my choice of reading place in the great room.

Like the day Alice came through the front door, when I could have sworn she'd been down in the darkroom all afternoon. Esme was just descending the stairs and Alice greeted her with "You won't believe what she did. It was the cutest thing!"

She realized I was there at the same time Esme interrupted her. "That sounds very interesting Alice. Let's go up to the studio and you can fill me in."

Or the day Emmett and Jazz thundered into the house.

"Face it, Emmett, you failed."

"Only cause he was cheating his ass off."

"Well, maybe if you didn't fall for it every damn time – "

"Bite me, Whitlock."

Jasper chuckled. "Nothin' but sour grapes cause you're not the best hider."

They shut up when they spotted me.

"Hey, what are you up to, Bella?" Emmett asked.

"Pretty obvious," I answered, waggling my book at him. "What about you guys?"

"Oh, you know, just out in the woods horsing around."

"Yes, ma'am, horsing." Jazz confirmed soberly.

Sometimes I really wondered if I was the only person in this house with a screw loose.

Thornfield was in the process of burning to the ground one afternoon, when Esme came to where I was curled up and squeezed my hand. "You really should get out in the fresh air," she said, her face full of concern. "You've been sitting here for hours."

Taking the easy way out had become automatic the last few days. I rose and headed for the door.

"Would you like me to come with you, sweetheart?"

I didn't want to hurt her feelings. That's why I was doing what she wanted. But I didn't feel like talking either. "No, thanks. I'll just go commune with nature or something."

At least outside I could escape the worried looks. I traipsed off toward the river, thinking of nothing, letting the pervasive mist settle onto my face and hair. For a while I followed the curve of the water, paying no attention to my surroundings. The feeling of aloneness that had taken over from the fear and anger didn't seem to change whether I was actually by myself or surrounded by Cullens at their most boisterous.

I'd only gone about half a mile, when my sharpened senses caught the presence of something stirring, still about fifty yards away on the other side of the river. I shrank into the thick foliage to avoid detection, continuing in the same direction, my eyes fastened on a clump of bulrushes on the opposite bank. When I was still some distance away, I took a few steps back and leapt smoothly to the other side, landing in the soft silt at the water's edge.

I crept soundlessly closer, not sure why I even cared about what I might be stalking. Maybe all us predators had a natural urge to identify any living creature that crossed our paths in case it turned out to be something yummy. Nothing out here could pose a threat. No harm in satisfying my curiosity.

Through the swaying green, I could just make out a figure, crouched at the river's edge. A man, dressed in jeans and a faded flannel shirt. His posture shifted suddenly, and I could see the broad shoulders. At the same moment my sense of smell deciphered his odd, unpleasant odor.

Another puzzle piece flew up from the messy pile and cart-wheeled across my mind like a colorful snowflake. I waited for it to fall into place, confident that it would plug up a good portion of the black hole, but it didn't seem to know where to land.

"Jacob?"

He jumped up, whirling to face me. In a flash, his expression went from alarm to distress to anger. I couldn't see a reason for any of them.

"Bella, what do you think you're doing here?" he hissed. He threw one worried glance into the trees and then closed the gap between us, grabbing my arm.

"What's your problem, Jake?" I scowled, easily freeing myself from his grip. "I'm taking a walk. What are you doing, burying bodies?"

"Please, keep your voice down."

"Why?"

"Because . . . look, can't you do what I tell you, just this once. Come here." He moved farther from the trees. I'd seldom seen him so rattled. And over what?

"All right," I said, "I'm whispering. Now can you stop with the cloak and dagger routine? What's the matter with you anyway?"

"Nothing."

I opened my mouth to call him on the lie, but he threw his hands up. "Okay, okay," he said still in a whisper. "We'll talk, but you've got to promise to be really quiet. The Cullens don't want you crossing the river."

"How do you know what the Cullens want? Have you talked to them?"

A new kind of outrage swept through me. Had he come to the house and not even bothered to see me, his best friend? I was about ready to forget his stupid rule about whispering, when I realized that for the last week or two, I'd apparently forgotten he existed at all.

"They're worried about you, Bells. Carlisle said you've been a major wack job –"

"He said no such thing," I spluttered into his face.

Jacob rolled his eyes. "Do you want me to tell you or not? I can't remember his exact words. Something about you having trouble remembering stuff. They wanted you to stay close to home, so they could keep an eye on you in case it got worse, and here you are breaking the rules."

"Like you never do that," I muttered scathingly. "Well, you've got your eye on me. That should be good enough for them."

"Maybe. So how are you really doing, Bells? You look okay."

"Flattery will get you nowhere. I'm supposed to look like some kind of vertically challenged supermodel. Get with the program, Jake."

For the first time, he grinned, and I felt a little of the brightening that always seemed to come with it.

"I'm not going to be the one to give you a big head. Go look in a mirror if you want to see what you look like. Oh, wait, I can never remember if you blood-suckers do the mirror thing."

"Very funny. So why haven't you come to see me?"

"It's only been a week and a half," he hedged, "and I've been pretty busy." He must have noticed the tightening around my eyes. I was not in the mood for half-truths. "But mostly it was because Carlisle said they couldn't be sure how you'd react. He didn't want to get you all upset."

That was plausible, although why I should react badly to Jacob, I couldn't see. Hadn't he always been the stable one, the friend I could turn to when I just wanted to act normal? So why had he not entered my thoughts during recent days? Surely, there was nothing bad connected to Jacob, unless you had something against werewolves, which I was pretty sure I didn't.

Still, something about him must touch on another part of the puzzle, a part too terrible to think about. I must have been quiet for too long, cause his black brows were knitting together.

"For real, Bells, just between us, how are you?"

"Well," I said, sighing, and shrugged. "I guess wack job covers it as well as anything. I had some pretty strong emotions there for a while, but now I don't feel much at all. It's good to see you, though." I tacked on a smile.

"Yeah, same here," he said, but he didn't smile back. "Is this like that other time? You were kind of disconnected back then about most things."

"There was another time?" I searched his face with real interest. The sense that I'd felt this awful isolation before wasn't just another trick of déjà vu then. Something like it had happened before.

"Oh, that's one of the things you don't remember, huh? Figures. Sorry I brought it up."

"No, it's good. I need to know about it. So I was what – depressed? Anti-social?"

He raised his brows. "You could say that. Except with me, of course. We hung out a lot and I think we had some pretty good times."

I nodded slowly, feeling the slow trickle of memories seeping back from wherever they'd been. His tiny house. The makeshift shed. "Motorcycles," I said aloud.

He laughed softly. "Motorcycles. Turned out not to be the greatest idea, but it was fun at the time."

"So why was I like that, Jake? If we could remember what caused it the other time, it might help us figure out how it started again."

"I don't think so," he muttered, and his expression had grown wary. "Things are way different now."

"But you know what caused it back then. I can see you do. Why won't you tell me?"

"The real question, Bells, is why you don't remember it yourself. It's cause you don't want to, right? So maybe you should let it go."

"When was this anyway? How long ago?" I persisted in a low voice, ignoring his obstinacy.

"It was over a year ago. Ancient history."

I tried to construct a timeline in my head. Alice had said I went to the junior prom with Edward. That had to be a joke, but it must have meant we were dating way back then. Dating? I couldn't seriously remember dating anyone, and we were still together recently?

I shuddered to realize how long he must have had me under his control. When had I become such a push-over? I was like an object lesson for teenage girls in some afterschool special. "So where was Edward when I was such a basket case?"

"Uh . . . Edward?" Jake looked uncomfortable, as if he was trying to place a name from his far past.

"It was only a year ago," I prompted him still in a whisper. "Not exactly ancient history."

"Do we have to talk about this now, Bells? I've got a bunch of stuff I need to do." He threw a furtive look toward the grove of willows behind us. He'd actually done that more than once. Did he honestly think the Cullens were spying on us?

"You're supposed to be my friend," I hissed. "I need you to help me put my life back together."

"Okay, fine. He wasn't here. He went . . . overseas or something."

I hadn't expected that. How had he managed to keep me under his control when he wasn't even on the same continent? "Is that why he left – because I was sick?"

Maybe he didn't want me if I wasn't well enough to do what he wanted. Was that why it had been so easy to make him go away this time around?

"Nah, it happened after." Jake's sunniness was buried under a cloud of misery. It was so easy to read his face, but I didn't let him off the hook.

A thought occurred to me, the first welcome one I'd had in a long time. If I was right about it, then maybe I wasn't quite as pathetic I feared. "You mean I actually got up the courage to break it off with him? I saw what he was doing and took back control of my life?"

I could see immediately from his expression that I was way off base. "What?" I prodded and when he didn't answer, I added incredulously, "Are you saying that _he_ dumped _me_?"

"I'm trying not to say anything, but you're being awful pushy," he growled.

"Why would he do that? He must have had me perfectly trained by then."

Jacob guffawed before he could stop himself and immediately looked over his shoulder to see if anyone had heard. "Now you sound like a wack job," he said, turning back. "When has anybody ever been able to get you to do anything you don't want to? I know cause I tried everything I could think of to get you to see things my way, but you're seriously stubborn, Bells."

"So maybe he found someone who wasn't such hard work. Is that it, Jake? Did he find a girl he liked better?"

"Would he have let you bring him back here if he did?"

I stared at him. "You're saying I went after Edward?" My hopes for the heroine of this story plummeted again. She had no backbone at all. And no self-respect either apparently. No wonder I didn't want to remember. "I just followed after him like a lost puppy?"

"More like a pit-bull, I think. Edward was in trouble and you went to get him out. You're lucky you didn't get yourself killed."

Worse and worse. "Why didn't you stop me, Jake? You were my friend."

"Don't you think I would have, if I could? You have no idea what you're like when it comes to him. When you came back, I kept trying to get you away. Even with him watching over you like a hawk, I kept trying."

Images came unbidden to my mind – a Volvo following me, heated arguments, frustration over not being able to spend time with Jacob. "He tried to keep us apart, didn't he?"

"Well, he didn't always succeed. You managed to sneak away a couple times, seeing as how I was so irresistible and all." His cocky grin brought with it another lost memory.

"You kissed me," I said.

He was still grinning. "Yeah, and you broke your hand trying to deck me."

"But I kissed you too. I know I did." The scene lit up in my head like a movie projector turning on. With it came emotions, strong ones, a terrible fear and the knowledge of how much I cared. It must have been love. Wasn't that the one thing worth fighting for?

His smiled turned sheepish. "Actually, I kind of tricked you into that. Not that it wasn't cool and all, but I wasn't exactly playing fair."

"And _he_ does?" I was so incensed I forgot to lower my voice. A small sound like an animal might make came from the vicinity of the willows. Jake tensed and shot a quick look over his shoulder. "Stay here, Bella. I mean it, don't move." And he loped off toward the trees.

I stood with my hands balling into fists. He had tricked me into kissing him? What on earth had I been doing with my life, just wondering around inviting men to manipulate me? I couldn't wrap my mind around it. Maybe I should just check in to the nearest convent and save me from myself.

And here I stood, following orders again. Well, I was sick of it. I followed Jacob back to where I'd first seen him crouching near the river's edge. There was a container sitting on the rocks. It looked like a child's plastic pail. Next to it a small net had been wedged between stones in the shallow water. Several little wiggly things were swimming inside it. Suddenly Jacob was behind me.

"I thought I asked you to stay put," he whispered angrily.

"No, I believe you _told_ me what to do – again. I don't need this, Jake. I'm tired of being pushed around, and has it entered your thick skull that I could beat the living crap out of you if I wanted to?"

He raised his hands defensively. "Aw, come on, you know you're not going to do that. What is it you want from me anyway?"

"A little support maybe. It sounds like you and me could have had something together, if it hadn't have been for Edward and his little campaign to rule the universe. You're the only other person I've found who has as much reason to distrust him as I do.

"I need you to back me up. The Cullens won't believe me about him, but if you'd tell them the things you've seen, it could help. I'm afraid he's going to do something terrible and one or all of them will get hurt."

Jacob looked like he might phase any minute and tear off into the woods. His discomfort was palpable. I couldn't believe it was cowardice. He was too young and reckless to be afraid of anything.

Another scene flashed behind my eyes, the kind that might be in a movie I didn't particularly want to see. Edward, picking up Jacob and flinging him aside, as if he weighed nothing, as if he _was_ nothing. "Don't you think you have a score or two to settle with Edward Cullen, Jake?"

He ignored the question and scowled at me. "Bella, I think it's great that you came to see me, but it's not like we're having any fun here. This isn't a conversation. It's the third degree. I bet every single thing you've said to me had a question mark after it. Do I look like a magic eight ball? And if you've gotta ask questions, whatever happened to 'what's up, Jacob', or 'how's things with you'?"

I opened my mouth to argue, but just then something glinted beyond Jacob, back in the willow trees. Someone or something was back there, and for some reason I wasn't supposed to know it. I changed tactics. "You're right, Jake. I've been a little self-involved lately. So tell me how have you been? How's Billy?"

"Same old aches and pains, you know, but he's been in better spirits lately. There's a lot more socializing around our place now with the pack and all. He hangs out with Charlie and Sue Clearwater most nights. They took that cabin up on the lake, you know, and it was pretty much party time all week long."

"That's good," I said, only half-listening. "I take it they didn't have much luck with the fishing, though."

"What do you mean?"

I nodded toward the little plastic pail. "Looks like you're desperate. Think you can get enough minnows for a fish fry?"

He grinned and headed over to check the net, just as I'd hoped he would. "Nah, are you sure you passed biology, Bells? These are tadpoles. Fish and amphibians – two different species."

In a burst of vampire speed, that I seldom used, but appreciated for moments like this, I was off the bank and into the little willow grove. It wasn't hard to find what I was looking for, but when I saw what it actually was I was stunned into stillness.

A small hammock had been slung between two saplings. I recognized it as a kind the Quileutes wove themselves. The pale sunlight was diffused here, tinged with green as if this sheltered place might actually be underwater. It danced with the leaf-thrown shadows all around the little bower and across the face of the sleeping child.

I got the impression of perfect little arms and legs sprawled carelessly in sleep and a mass of ringlets spread out to catch the sun. Another shift of sunlight and the object that had drawn my attention from so far away – a little golden locket – threw off another point of light.

But I couldn't look away from the face. I knew I had never seen anything more beautiful in my life. Her red lips made a little "o" as she breathed, and beneath the delicate eyelids, there was movement, as if she was following a dream story. I hoped it was a happy one, and I was sure it was when her mouth quirked up at the corner, verging on a smile.

Her lashes were incredibly long and thick. Even her eyebrows moved slightly in response to something in her dream. They were perfect, like the rest of her, and all of it together added up to something that took my breath away.

Thank heavens I didn't need it.

Her face was so expressive, even in sleep, that I had a sudden longing to see her when she was awake, bubbling with life. The urge to reach out was nearly overwhelming, but it wouldn't be right to disturb her, and besides I was well aware that Jacob had crept up behind me.

"Bella, get away from there now," he hissed, and he was clearly frantic about something, but I held up one finger. I needed another minute here. There was just something about this little girl, floating here like a fairy princess, hidden among the branches, that made a sweet cleansing breeze sweep over the torn emotions I'd been prey to these last weeks.

I longed to pick her up and cuddle her, an impulse I never remembered having before with anything but a puppy or kitten. Even to lean forward and feel her wisp of breath on my cheek, or to plant a light kiss in her tumbled curls, or to open the golden locket and see what secrets she held so close.

All those things were wildly inappropriate. I knew that and so allowed myself to be tugged away by Jacob.

He didn't stop until we were several yards away. "What did you think you were doing back there?" he practically spit at me.

"Who is she, Jake?"

He took a deep breath, obviously still distressed. "I'm watching her for a friend."

"What friend?"

"None of your business, Bella. Why do you have to be so nosy?"

"Why do you have to be so secretive?"

"Look," he said, forcing his furious expression under control, "she's shy. It would scare her to wake up and see . . . a . . . a stranger looking at her. She's my responsibility right now."

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" I was on the verge of fraying the tenuous threads of our friendship even further. I could feel it, but the vision of that vulnerable little girl suddenly took precedence even over that.

"What if you get upset, Jake? What if she throws a tantrum – kids do that, you know– and you lose control? Who in their right mind would ask a young werewolf to babysit a child?"

"Someone who trusts me," he said, his jaw tightening visibly. "Like you used to do."

"I used to do a lot of things. Apparently, most of them weren't very smart."

"Don't." He shook his head. "Don't ever think that." Suddenly his big hands were on my shoulders. He lowered his face to stare intently into my eyes. "This is all going to work out, Bella. It will. Trust me."

"How?" I said, desperately wishing that I could. "What's going to make it work out? _Who's_ going to make it work out? I'm out of sync with everything, Jake. It's like I don't even know who I am anymore."

"It'll be all right because it has to. Some things are just meant to be."

I stared at him. "So, what – you're some kind of fatalist now?"

"Me?" His impossibly white teeth flashed in a rueful grin. "Look at me, Bells. I'm my own freaking destiny. I'm like fate on two legs – or four, I guess, so yeah, that's what I'm going with. Can you just . . . come here."

He gathered me into his blazing warmth, and I hugged him back, feeling for one blessed moment like things were normal. I was with my best buddy, my rock, and if his sunny disposition had been clouded by growing up in a too fast, life-altering way, it had never been extinguished. I longed to soak up some of that optimism by osmosis, but all I felt was uncomfortably hot. "You're not going to try and kiss me again, are you?" I grumbled, pulling away.

"No." He chuckled with genuine humor. "No, I'm not going to do that."

"Just explain something to me. I know you've distrusted Edward Cullen since before you even met him, and now when I need you to back me up about what he's like, you suddenly turn chicken on me? Are you afraid of him, Jake? Is that what's happened here?

"Of course, I'm not afraid of him," he snorted. "Look, you know we've settled our differences, right? The wolves and the Cullens. We've got a new treaty. We're allies. You don't remember any of that?"

I hesitated. "Kind of," I said. It was sort of a given in my mind now, that all that nonsense was over, though I couldn't exactly remember how it had come about. "But I'm not talking about the Cullens in general. I'm talking about one Cullen in particular, the one you complained about every single time you got the chance. I know I gave you a hard time about that, but we're on the same page now, Jake – finally. It's a hell of a time to turn your back on our friendship."

"Now you're being stupid," he countered. "I'm your friend, Bells. I've always been your friend. I'll always be your friend. And I absolutely don't want to talk about this now. Please, just go home."

I shook my head in disbelief. "Fine. Thanks for caring. I'm out of here."

I hadn't taken more than half a dozen angry strides away from him when one of those random factoids flashed into my brain. I stopped and whirled on him again.

"He sabotaged my truck!" We both knew who I meant by "he." "My totally awesome truck that was like the best present I ever got from anybody, the truck you worked so hard to put together." That should raise his wolf hackles an inch or two.

"Yeah, well, you leeches are paranoid about humans getting too close to new werewolves. Maybe you've noticed that."

I opened my mouth to retort and absolutely nothing came out. What could I possibly say? In another minute, Jake would probably start defending Edward Cullen. And the minute after that, I would not be held responsible for the newborn temper that had taken just about all the frustration it could handle.

"Goodbye, Jake."

"And don't be mad!" he called after me, as I stomped off through the rushes. "Everything's gonna work out. You'll see."

I muttered a curse word under my breath, and made my leap across the river sooner rather than later, holding myself to a human pace as I headed back home. I needed time to get my anger under control and to process what had just happened.

Why, just when I was seeing things clearly, had Jake's resentment of Edward mysteriously cooled? None of the things he reminded me of today put Edward in a kinder light. All they did was prove that Jake had been right all along.

It had obviously been Jacob I had in mind when I'd tried to come up with someone who could judge Edward in comparison with other vampires. Jacob had his own secret to guard; he wasn't about to go around squealing on other supernaturals, and he knew firsthand about Edward's possessive behavior. So why wasn't he objecting to it now? And why had I been unable to even remember his existence till I'd seen him?

Then there was the question of what he was doing baby-sitting of all things? More to the point, what was up with me and kids? I'd never been the type to coo at strangers' infants, and I'd never given much thought to having one of my own. Renee's struggles with the concept of parenting weren't likely to inspire anyone to follow in her footsteps.

I didn't even know if I liked children. If I were still human maybe my biological clock would start ticking somewhere in the far future, but since I wasn't human anymore, I was definitely clockless.

Why did everyone – Jacob included – keep telling me that things would get better when every day they just got worse and more unreal? I felt like I'd stepped through a looking glass to find the world recognizable but oddly wrong, everything off in some essential way.

I hadn't made much headway on understanding Jake's attitude by the time I reached the Cullens' house, but at least my rage had subsided. With no one to take it out on, it seemed a waste of energy that I could scarcely afford.

The Cullens were all in the great room when I arrived. Rosalie and Alice had taken up most of the area near the piano with their dress-pattern project. Why they couldn't just buy patterns at the yard goods store, I didn't understand since they were planning to improve on them anyway, but they assured me all the commercial ones were too "last year" to be of any use at all.

Carlisle was kneeling on the other side of the room doing something to an electrical socket, and Emmett and Jasper were playing one of their many card games, most of which they made up themselves. Only Esme didn't pretend to be preoccupied when I entered. Had they all been waiting for me?

"You weren't supposed to cross the river," Alice reminded, sitting back on her heels. "And who did you meet exactly?" Suddenly, I knew how Jacob felt being interrogated rather than greeted.

"What are you, Alice, my mother?" On second thought, Renee had seldom paid attention to what time I left or came home, unless there was an interesting story attached. I regretted the childish sarcasm immediately. Of course, she hadn't been able to see me, and that could be cause for worry.

"Sorry, Alice, I crossed the river because Jake was there." I hadn't actually known who was there, when I crossed but it seemed like a minor detail. "I haven't seen him in a while, so I just went over to talk. I figured as long as I was with somebody you knew, you didn't need to worry about me."

"It helps, if I can see that somebody." Alice was back on her hands and knees, holding one end of a tape measure, while Rosalie stretched it across the paper and recorded some essential statistic.

"Why? You knew it had to be a werewolf, and they're all on our side these days, right?" I sat down next to Esme, who took my hand in a welcoming gesture.

"Stability, Bella, that's the key," Emmett said sagely, slapping a card down. "Once they've been making the change for a while, they're probably safe as long as they aren't mad at you. Just be sure they're stable."

"The pack's been together for a while now," I said, "I'm sure they're all safe to be around."

"You've got to be kidding," Rosalie scoffed. "That Leah bitch is a loose cannon."

"Rose," Esme cautioned.

"Well, that's what they are, isn't it? Female dogs or wolves or shape-shifters – whatever they're calling themselves this week."

"Leah's had a hard time, and don't forget she's Seth's sister. I think we're all fond of Seth."

"Yeah, Seth's cool," Emmett agreed. "Don't know how he puts up with having her for a sister."

"I put up with having Jasper for a brother," Rosalie pointed out, "and he just wasted a perfectly good engine block. You don't deserve that truck, Whitlock."

"I know," Jasper said languidly, refusing to rise to the bait. "That's the second time you've played the queen of diamonds, Emmett."

"No kidding?" Emmett said with an evil grin. "I thought you weren't paying attention."

"You hoped I wasn't paying attention."

"How was Jacob?" Esme asked. "I'll bet he was glad to see you."

"I suppose so, but I came at a bad time. He was in the middle of something."

"Getting checked for fleas, I hope," Rosalie offered, but nobody laughed.

"As a matter of fact, he was babysitting."

Was it my imagination or had the whole room just skipped a beat? Everybody was back at their chosen tasks, but I could have sworn there was a millisecond when they all froze. It wasn't something the human eye would notice. I wasn't even sure my vampire eyes had caught it.

"Really?" Esme said smoothly. "I hope that isn't how he describes his relationship with Leah. The poor girl just needs to feel respected. She's important to the pack, after all."

'No, it was a real baby or, well, a small child anyway. Seriously, Esme, she was the most beautiful little girl I've ever seen."

This time I knew I hadn't imagined it. There was an unnatural stillness in the room, not unnatural for vampires as a rule, but odd for ones who had been doing such mundane human things. Carlisle put down his tools and came to sit casually on the arm of the sofa beside me.

"Wow, that's something, huh?" Emmett said, but there was a carefulness about the way he said the words that didn't sound like him. "A werewolf minding a human kid."

"Who was she?" Carlisle asked.

I shook my head. "Haven't a clue. Jake, was totally paranoid about me even looking at her, like whoever she belongs to might rip his head off if anyone disturbed her. He was so afraid I'd wake her up that he made me leave. It was completely weird."

I had just pointed out the most intriguing part of the story, and yet I could have sworn the tension broke. Everyone seemed to lose interest in the subject at once and went back to what they were doing.

"Jacob is mature for his age in a lot of ways," Esme said. "I'm sure he took his responsibility very seriously, but I know he's been concerned about you, Bella. It's nice you got to see each other."

Carlisle patted my shoulder. "Please – don't cross the river again. I know you think you'll be fine, and I'm sure you will, but it isn't fair to the rest of us. Whether you like it or not, we all worry about you, especially when you're in a situation where Alice can't follow. The pack's patrolling out there all the time. You could stop to have a chat with any one of them and put Alice in a tizzy."

"I don't do tizzies," Alice called, affronted.

Carlisle smiled. "My mistake. You could make Alice worry unnecessarily."

"I won't," I promised. The truth was I had no desire to venture out again. Everywhere I turned, things seemed twisted somehow, surreal. All I needed was to step into the forest and run into Tweedledum and Tweedledee.

I returned to the safety of books, where things progressed in a logical order, and all of it eventually made sense. I would have preferred to retreat to Alice's room or some other secluded corner of the house, but it was clear that the others worried about me whenever I was out of their sight, so I curled up in their midst and pretty much checked out of the family activity.

This was not always possible, thanks to my closest confidante and would-be motivational coach, Alice. She and Rose corralled me that night, insisting I help with the next stage of their design project. My help turned out to consist of standing on a stool in the middle of Rosalie's bedroom, while the two of them hung pieces of blue fabric all over me, like some demented version of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey.

"Don't you have one of those regular dummies dressmakers use?"

"Don't know where it is," Alice said dismissively.

"You could try the basement," I grumbled.

"Now, now," Rosalie coaxed in a rare attempt at peace-making. "This won't take long, Bella. And besides it's your color blue. We can't get the full effect unless it's you wearing it."

"I have my own color?"

"Well, it's the one that . . ." She stopped and started again. "It's the one we all think looks good on you."

I sighed. If Rose was stooping to flattery, they must be dead set on this project. I'd just have to endure it.

At one point, Carlisle looked in and I hoped momentarily for a reprieve, but he ducked out again, looking faintly aghast, without lobbying for my freedom.

Traitor.

Whatever this creation was meant to be, it swept all the way to the floor, which left Rose and Alice crawling in opposite directions around the perimeter, pinning up the hem.

"Has it ever occurred to you two that we live in the freaking woods? Wouldn't you be better off designing hiking gear or raincoats?"

"That's not what the competition's about," Alice said with exaggerated patience. "It's about style and beauty and elegance."

"And patience," I mumbled. "Don't forget, gobs of patience."

"It's not like you have somewhere else to be now, is it?" Rosalie added around the pins in her mouth. "A hot date or a dinner party maybe?"

She had me there. I really could be a little nicer to these people who were putting up with me. It wasn't their fault I felt so empty and frustrated. I was attempting to think of something cheerful to say, when the weirdest feeling gripped me.

I tried to come up with a precedent for it but couldn't. There was a tingling all around me, as if the atmosphere had altered in some subtle and crucial way. No one else seemed to notice. Was it just another sign of mental meltdown or could there be some perfectly logical explanation?

"Is there someone in the house?"

Rose looked up, surprised. "Only the family. Why?"

"I don't know," I said. "It just felt like something had changed."

"Well, we don't actually get a lot of callers, particularly at two in the morning. Of course, the dogs keep late hours, baying at the moon or whatever it is they do for fun. Maybe one of them dropped by to hit us up for a Milkbone," Rosalie smirked at her own wit. "And anyone else would ring the doorbell."

Alice hadn't said a word. She was kneeling on the floor immobile, just staring at nothing. "Alice?" I prodded.

She looked up. "What? Oh, someone in the house. Well, I doubt it could be haunted. It's practically new, after all, and you never hear stories about modern houses having ghosts. It's always some rickety old place where generations have lived and died."

"No, there was that one movie – or maybe more than one – about that family who bought a house on Long Island," Rosalie offered, crawling a few inches to place a new pin. "Remember, blood ran down the walls or something equally unbelievable, but I think there'd been a murder on the premises."

"Well, I say it's time they made one about a haunted studio apartment – or a trailer," Alice chirped. "And don't forget _Poltergeist _– that took place in a regular tract home. Just your friendly, neighborhood Gateway to Hell. I think it was supposed to be because the house had been built on an Indian burial ground."

"Ha! So that's how it ended. Of course, it was a treaty issue! Why doesn't that surprise me?" Rosalie jabbed another pin into the hem with more force than was necessary.

"You never saw the end of it?"

"No I didn't, because I tried to watch it with Emmett." The two of them had finally ended up in the same spot.

"Let me guess," Alice said, eyeing their handiwork critically. "Emmett persuaded you that he was more entertaining than Spielberg."

"Emmett was scared," Rosalie whispered with a conspiratorial grin.

"Are you serious?"

"Totally. Oh, he wasn't about to admit it, but every time we watch something with ghosts or spirits, he starts looking everywhere but at the screen. He peeks at it from behind my hair or tries to convince me he's bored, just as the plot's getting exciting. You know how he is. He likes an enemy he can actually see."

"Are we about done here?" I interrupted. How on earth had they gotten on the subject of scary movies anyway?

"Yes, aren't we, Alice?"

For just a second, Alice looked thoughtful. "Almost," she said cautiously. The taking-off took nearly as long as the putting-on as they tried to keep the pinned together pieces intact. Then Alice insisted on tidying everything up herself, which wasn't strictly necessary since it was Rosalie's room we'd trashed.

"Wonder what I did with the sewing machine," she mused, as she gathered up all the paraphernalia and put it carefully into plastic crates. I'd never seen her do anything so slowly.

"Try the basement," I said again.

"What a good idea! You are such a great sport, Bella. I know this isn't exactly your thing, but you are going to look drop-dead gorgeous in this gown."

I felt a little ashamed for being so whiny. "Glad to help. I'm sorry I'm not in a better mood."

"I know," Alice enthused. "We'll pick a day and Rose and I will help you do your thing, whatever that may be."

"I don't even know what it is," I said helplessly. "I feel like I do have a thing, and it's big and important and if I could put my finger on it, I'd know everything about who I am. It's just not happening."

"It will," Alice said, squeezing my hand sympathetically. "Just give it time."

To my surprise, Rose caught me up in an impulsive hug. "You don't deserve what's happened to you, sweetie. You really don't. It's going to get fixed somehow. You just have to believe that."

"Thanks," I murmured, relieved to see that whatever had made her look daggers at me the other night was apparently forgotten.

Alice opened the doors, and we moved into the hall. "So does anyone want to watch _Poltergeist_ all the way through? I have it on DVD."

"No, I better get back to Emmett. It's dark, you know. He might be scared."

We all snickered. "And I need to check in with Jane Eyre. I'm pretty sure she can't find her way back to Rochester without my help."

"Well then I'll see you two in the morning," Alice said, skipping off to parts unknown. Of course, we knew where she was going. Even though she and Jasper were more low-key about their relationship than Emmett and Rosalie, it was no secret that she joined him nearly every night. The only reason she'd insisted I share her bedroom, I was sure, was so she'd have an excuse to pop in and check on me without looking too nosy.

Obvious or not, everyone else in this household was paired off. It was impossible not to feel lonely as I went off by myself every night. This night, though, I was distracted from the loneliness by that vague buzzing sensation that told me something was different in the atmosphere.

No one else had commented on it. Now that I could focus completely, I realized it wasn't a sound at all, more like a subtle vibration, not just around me but deep inside, in my bones. I listened hard trying to discern some unusual movement in the house. Like most buildings, it was probably shifting and settling in barely discernible ways, but nothing I could pinpoint.

Probably just another symptom of my mysterious condition.

I sighed and went to stretch out on Alice's bed, finding my way back to the blazing manor house on the moors. Sometime later, the buzzing began to fade. I could feel the exact moment when it happened. Tossing the book aside, I ran from the bedroom, alert to any evidence of something different, though I saw nothing.

Continuing on, I opened the front door and stepped outside. It was clear tonight and cold. There was moonlight on the lawn and no sign of any movement, only what might have been the sound of a deer moving swift as wildfire through the forest.


	17. Carlisle III

A/N

_I've decided to do an extra post this week. It's a short chapter but important in that it leads the way for Part II of __**Morning**__, a major shift in the storyline to begin next Thursday. For those of you who've stuck with me from the beginning, it's obvious by now that labeling __**Morning**__ "romance/drama" didn't tell the whole story. In the summary, I wrote that I wanted to explore what life might be like for the Cullens, and life is made up of a lot of things – romance, drama, fluff, mystery, humor, angst etc. They're all part of the journey the characters have to take to find their happy ending. You just know it's there somewhere._

Chapter 17

Carlisle III

My wife and I were halfway up the stairs when my cell phone rang.

"I need to see you now."

Esme lifted her eyebrows in a question, and I nodded. "Fine, I'll be right down."

"No, it has to be there. Could you ask someone to come stay with Renesmee?"

"Of course, but, Edward, you know she's here."

"I know. I won't use the door. Please, find a way to keep her safely occupied."

"I will. Don't worry."

"What is it?" Esme asked, as I tucked the phone back in my pocket.

"I'm not sure, but he says he has to come here. Would you mind going to the cottage to look after Nessie?"

"Now that's a very silly question. I'll leave right away."

A rustling at the foot of the stairway announced Alice's timely arrival. "I believe my services are needed."

"That was quick," I said, surprised. As much as we rely on her gift, it still has the power to take me off guard.

"I really do pay attention," she assured us. "And I've already thought of the perfect way to keep Bella busy."

"Thank you, sweetheart," Esme said, "You are a godsend."

"No problem." Alice zipped away, and seconds later her voice rang out in a plaintive wail. "Bella, I absolutely have to have your help!"

I walked Esme outside and down to the driveway where I kissed her lightly. "Be safe."

"See you whenever." She smiled up at me and a second later was streaking across the lawn and into the shadows out of sight.

Back inside I followed the sound of voices to Rosalie's room, the biggest bedroom in the house. Tonight it appeared uncharacteristically chaotic. Slices of fabric were draped on the elegant furniture, and oddly shaped pieces of paper fluttered everywhere.

In the middle of the floor stood an easel with a dozen sketches taped to its frame. The hodgepodge of items strewn around it contained a few recognizable items, like scissors and pincushions, but many were a mystery to me. The whole scene would have given the impression of a yard sale gone awry if it weren't for the addition of Bella, standing on a stool with the resigned expression of a prisoner in the dock.

"What are you ladies up to tonight?" I said, trying to sound more interested than horrified.

"Milano has come to Forks," Rosalie announced. "We're ready to make our latest design a reality, and Bella's going to be the model."

"More like the guinea pig," Bella grumbled. "I don't see why you guys can't just do this to each other."

"Because it takes both of us to do the draping and pinning," Alice said reasonably. "All you have to do is stand still and look pretty."

"Well, I'll leave you to it," I said. "Enjoy yourselves." I shut the door, feeling a twinge of guilt for Bella's plight, and headed for the stairs.

Edward was standing at the top.

In the moment it took me to reach him, I assessed the damage. His eyes were troubled but there was a spark of purpose there that had been lacking over these last days. He followed me into the study, and I closed and locked the door, taking a seat behind the desk to avoid the pacing he had already begun.

"Have you thought of something that could help?" I asked.

"My thinking has been useless," he said dismissively. "But Renesmee . . . Her taste in literature is eclectic. One minute she wants Homer or Wordsworth, the next a fairytale. It's as if she's several ages at once."

What this had to do with the problem at hand eluded me, but the flash of parental pride that lit his face did my heart good. "Well, she's certainly at home in this family then," I said, smiling.

He went on without comment. "We talk about Bella all the time. She needs to feel her mother's presence in her life, even though she understands that something's not right. Tonight, when I tucked her in, she said, 'Momma's just like Sleeping Beauty.' When I asked in what way, she said, 'Someone put an evil spell on her too.'"

He paused, looking to me expectantly.

"It's common for children to indulge in magical thinking," I pointed out, but he was shaking his head.

"No, Carlisle, I think she may be right."

His expression didn't waver, but once again I was sure his mind was going a mile a minute. I wasn't keeping up. He put his hands on the desk, leaning toward me. "You said there was no medical explanation for what's happened to her."

"If she was human there might be, but we're not susceptible to any of those triggers."

"So there's not a human answer." He stressed the word "human."

I searched his face. It was focused, certain, and the message finally sank in. "You think this was done to Bella by one of _our_ kind?"

"It's the only thing that fits. Who else could reach into a mind and do so much damage?"

I thought it over. "I see what you mean, but that would take a very powerful ability, one we certainly would have heard about before now."

Edward straightened up and resumed his pacing.

"And it's too sophisticated," I went on. "For all their power, the gifts we know about are limited in their own way. You hear people's thoughts. Alice sees visions. Those are very specific abilities. Even Aro's skills, formidable as they may be, are of a specialized nature. What you're talking about would require almost surgical precision, putting certain thoughts into her head, taking others out, manipulating her emotions. Nothing we've seen comes close to that."

Edward's expression was contemptuous. "Whoever it was put nothing in."

"How can you say that? You think it's normal for Bella to shrink from the sight of you or try to convince everyone you're the devil incarnate?"

"Everything Bella said was true. She's known it all along. Only she was . . . distracted."

"She was happy," I corrected sharply.

His face was hard, and for a minute I expected the old self-recriminations to bubble up, as they so often did in times of stress, but instead he turned away and said quietly, "Yes."

He resumed his pacing. His long legs ate up the room in three or four strides and he turned repeating the process without thought, reminding me of a panther trapped in a too small cage. "So what is the nature of this . . . gift, for want of a better word? Can you see a pattern to it?"

"I'm not certain. Perhaps it affects her capacity to love."

I pondered the possibility carefully. "No, I don't think that's it. She still feels the same affection for Charlie and all of us, even Jacob."

"But not her own daughter?"

"I'm not so sure about that either. Did Jacob tell you what happened earlier?"

"He did. It was entirely my fault."

"Why your fault?"

"Because he told me Nessie wanted to catch tadpoles. That meant the river – that Bella is not supposed to cross. Have you ever known her to do anything so quickly as the things she's been warned against? Your admonition was a virtual guarantee that she'd end up on my side sooner or later."

I couldn't say he was wrong. "At least, no harm was done. Thank God the baby was asleep. But you're wrong about Bella not feeling anything. She was apparently very drawn to Nessie. The urge confused her."

"Jacob observed that as well." Edward said. "It's a good sign. That confusion will dissipate. It must. Her love for Nessie isn't a memory or an idea, it's part of who she is. It will come back to her."

I started to point out that the same could be said for Bella's feelings toward him, but I sensed that would take us in a less rewarding direction. "Do you mind if I play devil's advocate for a minute?"

"By all means."

"If what you're thinking is true and there's a vampire out there with a very powerful ability, wouldn't the Volturi have recruited him by now?"

"Perhaps they have."

"But no one like that accompanied them when they came here last winter. Surely, Aro would have wanted every weapon in his arsenal for the confrontation."

"It's not a tactical weapon," Edward argued. "Too slow and subtle. The Volturi prefer quick and tortuous like Jane or completely debilitating like Alec. This is more personal . . . and cruel. The work of someone who enjoys inflicting pain."

"And you don't think Jane does?" Murderous urges I'd thought long extinguished in myself had flared to life when I'd heard what she did to Edward in Italy. Between the excruciating pain and his fear that she'd do the same to Bella, I wasn't sure how he'd held it together.

"Oh, she enjoys it," he said with a grim smile. "I suspect it gives her an almost sexual pleasure. But what she does serves a greater purpose. It helps the Volturi rule by fear."

"And intimidation," I agreed. "What's happened with Bella – it's not their way of doing things, unless they've changed tactics completely. If you look at what's actually been accomplished, a wedge has been driven between you and Bella. Still, I can't believe Aro would be naïve enough to think dividing you would drive either one of you to his side."

"Oh, I would be there," Edward said with a deceptively innocent lift of his brows, "but he'd be dead before he could thank me for coming."

He thrust his fingers through his hair. "On the other hand, Aro could attract Bella merely by forbidding her to set foot on Italian soil." He didn't slow in his effort to gouge tracks in my carpet.

"So if this immortal wasn't sent by the Volturi, where did he – or she – come from?"

"A nomad?" Edward guessed. "Someone who could stay under the radar of our whole community."

"Then how could he have anything against Bella?" I reasoned. "Or do you think he just does this to whoever he comes across? For what purpose? He obviously didn't stick around to enjoy its effect, which is not typical of a true sadist, by the way. Most of their pleasure comes from watching the victim suffer, and if we're talking about problems with this theory, I just don't see when it could have happened."

"As soon as I left," he said heavily.

"But when? Bella can account for her whereabouts that entire day, and Alice was keeping an eye on her too."

"Alice was following too many people at once."

"She's good at multi-tasking."

"It's not the first time she's missed something important."

"Wait," I said, opening the one file sitting on my desk, and extracting a sheet of yellow legal paper. "I wrote it all down. Esme drove Bella and Nessie up to Port Angeles for shopping. She was never alone. They came back here and Alice refreshed her make-up job.

"That's when we lose any verification, but Bella was quite specific, saying she went first to the post office. Only Mrs. Stanley was there, and apparently that went as well as could be expected. She said hello to the manager in the hardware store and bought Charlie some gloves there."

Edward's pacing slowed and his face softened. "He left his out in the rain. The leather was cracked. She was afraid he'd forget to buy new ones." It was as though this last memory of normalcy with Bella soothed his agitation. He went to stand against the far wall.

"She went into the gallery near there. Again – just the basic pleasantries with someone she knew from the diner. She left town, heading directly for the woods, and that's when she ran into a backpacker, spoke to him for a few minutes before he left and then she lingered there for a while. The sun had come out at that point, so she was probably taking the chance to enjoy it."

"Did she say that?"

"No, not specifically. Just that she didn't leave right away."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Does it really matter?'

"Everything matters until we find the truth. What did this hiker look like?"

"Well, not like one of us, if that's what you're getting at. Bella and Alice described him in very similar terms – sandy curls and blue eyes, awkward, chubby. Bella used the term 'roly-poly,' hardly typical of a vampire."

"Hardly typical of a hiker either." Edward frowned.

I closed the file, watching his eyes. They've always expressed so much more than what he's willing to say. "Tell me, what you're thinking?"

He looked at me beneath furrowed brows. "What if Bella were not the only person in the woods that day pretending to be something other than what they were?"

"You think that's possible?"

"We know it is. Someone determined to hide his true identity would create an image as far from ours as possible."

"But why would he need to?" I countered. "If this is a nomad, Bella won't have seen him before. Why would he go to such lengths not to be recognized?"

"Perhaps, it wasn't Bella he was trying to fool." He pushed away from the wall and started pacing again, both hands punishing his hair. "If he was trying to get to me, through her, he would not want her to have a real description. Not if it was someone I could recognize."

He was doing it again. Attempting to take responsibility for whatever threatened the people he loved. My natural inclination was to stop him in his tracks, except for the niggling suspicion that he could be right.

Who could possibly want to harm Bella? She'd been immortal for such a short time, and in fact, as confused and unhappy as she was, Bella had no concept of what had actually been lost.

Edward did.

He was the one hit full force with rejection by the person he loved and trusted above all others. He was the one feeling every bit of the resulting pain. Not wanting to watch him add more fuel to the flames of self-recrimination that burned so stubbornly in his conscience, I chose my words carefully.

"You can't assume this person's targeting you. With James and Victoria, there was a certain twisted logic. An eye for an eye. A loved one for a loved one. That's all over now. I can't think of anyone who would have a vendetta against you. Am I missing something?"

"Interesting choice of language," Edward said dryly. "There are a few people in Italy who are less than pleased with my attitude."

"Granted, but again, no one who would approach it this way. Believe me, I'm not making excuses for the Volturi. All three of them – Aro, Marcus, Caius – are capable of targeting Bella as a means of drawing you to them. Aro's an obsessive type. I don't believe he's given up on the idea of recruiting you and Alice."

"Oh, I know he hasn't." Edward gave a short laugh. "And now he covets Bella's talents as well. I'm actually rather grateful for that."

"What do you mean?"

"The three of us represent weapons to him, further means for solidifying his power, and that's what Aro cares about most. As long as he's fixated on us, he's unlikely to come after Nessie. Oh, he'd love to procure her for his collection, to study her and attempt to find a way to use her abilities to his advantage, but the fact is her talents lie in peacekeeping. Not a priority for him right now."

"True." I knew how Aro thought, even if I couldn't read the specifics in his mind the way Edward could. I'd lived with the Volturi for quite a while; if they were behind this, I ought to be able to figure out the goal.

"What if," I said, trying another angle, "what if the whole purpose was to compromise Bella's ability to make judgments and therefore use her shield? They could be planning a second attack on us here without the strategic advantage that saved us the first time."

Edward shook his head. "I thought of that, but it would involve planning of a sort that Aro would never delegate to others, and Alice may miss some decisions, but not those made by the Volturi. Her vigilance there is impeccable."

"Then I'm back to wondering if it isn't all a setup to get you storming over to Volterra so they can make you an offer you can't refuse."

"If that's what they were after," Edward countered, "they'd want me to know immediately who was responsible. They would hardly obscure the incident the way someone has obviously tried to do. Besides, if –" he froze, and I realized that the door to Rosalie's bedroom had opened. He stood with his eyes closed, focusing on the feminine voices that spilled out below us.

I caught very little of their conversation, something about poltergeists and Jane Eyre, but I was certain Edward followed every word. I watched him carefully, the way his face gentled, the almost imperceptible lifting at the corners of his mouth, when Bella laughed.

Yes, I was still capable of doing grievous harm to whoever had done this to my family.

"Edward?" Again, there was a glimpse of that innocent boy he had been, before he came back to the issue at hand. "So if we assume this has nothing to do with the Volturi, is there anyone you can think of who'd harbor that kind of grudge against you?"

"No." He frowned, but didn't resume his obsessive pacing. "I can't think of anyone, unless it's from the very distant past."

"Even so, your memory's almost photographic. Surely, you'd remember someone like that."

"Perhaps not, if I haven't tried in seventy years."

I knew he was thinking about the time he'd left us, the years he'd spent rebelling against our way of life. It wasn't something I encouraged him to dwell on. Once he'd returned to us, we'd agreed to leave the past in the past. I wasn't sure it was a good idea to change that decision now.

"I need to get to my room. There are journals from those years. I haven't opened them since I wrote the original entries, but they might contain a clue."

"Is that really a good idea? It's bound to stir up unpleasant memories. Surely, you'd remember if you'd crossed another immortal during that time."

"I do remember," he said quietly. "There were a few, but the encounters ended . . . decisively. There has to be something I've overlooked."

"All right." I nodded. "I'll stand guard, while you get the journals. You'll let me know right away if you find anything?"

"Of course. I'll go out that way."

And just like that, he was gone. I wandered out into the hallway after him and stood guard at the top of the stairs, but the house was silent. I waited, giving him enough time to find the journals he needed and make his escape silently thru the bedroom window.

He would pore over every word in search of something connecting the past to the present. I hoped it was there to be found. I hoped it would show us a way to help Bella. And I hoped returning to that dark time wouldn't do him more harm than good.


	18. Gotham

_Carlisle, please forgive the email. It's the quickest way, and I have things to do that can't wait. I've read the journals. I transcribed entire pages here, along with a few notes and observations, to give you the most accurate picture I can of my life alone and the events that lead me to return._

_I hope you can follow it, as I've added pieces out of order, but don't have time to clean it up. You never asked me back then what I'd been doing, and I couldn't have told you, not with any expectation of being welcomed back into your home. _

_I'm sorry to do this to you now, but if a key to the present crisis lies in the past, I have to find it, and I need your objective opinion as to whether there is one. I apologize ahead of time if this knowledge hurts you or irrevocably ruins your good opinion of my character. It's the only way I know to help Bella. _

_I'll talk to you later this morning. _

Part II – Edward's Story 1927-1931

Chapter 18

Gotham

There was never a place and a creature more suited to one another than Chicago in the 1920s and myself. I could have made a good argument for my existence based on nothing more than the evidence that civilization was crumbling around me. The human herd badly needed culling, and I had raised that chore to an art form.

Not that I ever bothered to rationalize my existence anymore, even to myself. Not since I'd given up trying to emulate my father. My adoptive father, that is. Memories of my real father drifted away like dust motes, insubstantial and unconnected to each other or to me.

Carlisle's face stayed with me, perhaps taking the place of the conscience I no longer had. I hated looking at it and hated myself for feeling that way. He was and is a good man and the strongest person I have ever known, but even saints have flaws and his is a belief that others share his qualities. I have seen no proof of that in the thousands of minds that have fallen under my scrutiny since he changed me.

I am well aware that virtues exist in most people. I have to be, as this is the criteria for my chosen game, the one in which the innocent are spared. It's a pathetic conceit, I know that too, but it is the last shred of humanity I hold to.

Knowing people's thoughts is a far more accurate indicator of their morality than simply listening to their words, most of which are half-truths at best. If this seems like a poor excuse for appointing myself sole judge and executioner of those who cross my path, it can't be helped. That's the best I can do, and it comes nowhere near the standards set by Dr. Carlisle Cullen. His misplaced faith in me is the only fault I ever saw in him.

I've seen compassion in many people, and courage in others. I've traced the intricate thoughts of brilliant minds and met selfless souls who devote their lives to helping others, but I have never seen all those things in one person – apart from Carlisle.

The more I came to know and respect him, the more obvious it was to me that I would always fall short of his example. What I could do was ensure that he wouldn't have to witness my failure. He deserved better than that, and so I left his house.

And walked into the streets of Chicago, streets filled with gangsters and speakeasies, corrupt policemen and city officials who answered only to the mob. Prohibition had tempted even ordinary citizens to break the law, and the city's proximity to Canada, source of the abundant illegal liquor, attracted criminals from all around the country.

There seemed to be a con-man on every corner, although I have to admit I enjoyed the shell game immensely, watching the faces of the grifters as their fool-proof scams went mysteriously awry under my gaze.

Society was reinventing itself, and until the pieces were woven back together, there would be an embarrassment of riches for someone set on avoiding the innocent.

It should have been the perfect spot for me, but of course, it wasn't. I could not stay where Carlisle had practiced and earned a reputation that would have done credit to any human. The nobility of his actions virtually ensured that his true nature would never cross anyone's mind.

My presence, cutting a bloody swath through the underworld, would eventually catch his attention. Unlike humans, he wouldn't turn a blind eye to unexplained death; he wouldn't concoct a comfortable fiction to avoid facing the possibility of monsters actually existing.

I left with no clear idea of where I was going. I'd lived in Chicago all my life and been dead in it even longer. Every place else was new to me. That in itself seemed to promise adventure and a new start. Though I'd never really been on my own before, I knew it was common for our kind to travel alone; there must be an advantage to it.

After wandering around the Midwest for months, I could still not see that advantage, at least not for someone with my dietary restrictions. The sheer number of people in a city made it more likely for me to find what I was looking for. Plus a large congregation of humans tends to split into smaller groups, each staking out their own area. My odds increase exponentially when there are whole neighborhoods devoted to the lowest level of humanity.

To be honest, there were many moments when I reveled in my decision. Fewer people meant more freedom to move the way I could, the way I wanted to. Running full tilt through vast meadows, leaping over roads and rivers, scaling mountains and trees, even radio towers. And the smells were intoxicating. Instead of the ever-present discomfort of nearby humans, there were scents from nature that almost mesmerized me.

I could lie in the tall grass of a remote pasture and study the stars for hours on end, stars that were hardly visible in the city. When I had the sky to look at, the fragrance of fields and flowers, the myriad tiny sounds of the country at night, I felt somehow drunk on sensation, and I believe there were times when I was almost happy.

But those moments are delicate and hard to grasp when thirst is demanding your full attention. I was going recklessly long without hunting, on the verge of becoming a distinct danger to myself and others. It was clear I needed to get to an urban area as quickly as possible, and the means was never far away.

Everything in those days was shipped by rail. You could be in an empty landscape that stretched to the horizon and somewhere nearby a train would go clattering past. I took advantage of that, making sure to hit a city at decent intervals.

The other downside to my bucolic lifestyle was more surprising. In fact, it took a while for me to understand what was bothering me because I wasn't expecting it. The hint of dissatisfaction that accompanied even the most enjoyable moments finally translated itself to me as loneliness. I missed having someone to share those moments with, to talk about them.

That realization was extremely irritating.

Who had I shared things with before? My parents, Carlisle and, since he'd married, Esme. Obviously this was some residual need from childhood. I would go insane if I held onto it when I was so clearly meant to lead a solitary existence. I stomped around in the woods most of an afternoon telling myself to "grow up" and breaking anything that came within my line of vision.

After a while I realized I was boring the hell out of myself and gave it up, heading for the nearest railroad track. My destination had probably been in the back of my mind all along. In a metropolis, you at least had the illusion of being part of something, even if you knew deep down you were alone.

I'd spent my life in America's second city, and now it was it was time to enjoy my non-life in America's first.

New York, when I arrived, was blazing with the hedonistic fervor that fueled the entire country, an orgy of consumption that grew up after the Great War. It was based, I think, on the sense of invulnerability that came with victory and on the wide-spread belief that the new prosperity would grow forever.

As in Chicago, Els rattled overhead, but here trains roared beneath the ground as well. Automobiles and streetcars shared the surface with a dwindling number of horses, where once there had been thousands.

There were still women in long dresses and others with skirts above their knees. I wondered what my parents would think if they could see how drastically the world had changed in the mere ten years since they'd left it.

It was an easy city to get to know. Neighborhoods were distinct. For months I simply roamed the streets – night and day – never tiring, seldom still. In no time, I had a good knowledge of the best hunting grounds, as well as the places that satisfied other urges within me.

There was something to excite the senses or stimulate the imagination on almost every corner. Music poured out of cafes and jazz clubs. It soared at Carnegie Hall, where – for a person of my particular talents – a ticket was never mandatory.

At the vast uptown museums, I could stand studying a particular painting for an hour or more while humans hurried past with only a cursory glance at some of the world's greatest works of art.

There were galleries too, brimming with strange new visions that might or might not be harbingers of an important new artistic movement.

It was possible to see a production of Shakespeare or a vaudeville show within a block of each other. I began to wonder how the humans who lived here could ever enjoy a fraction of what was on offer, given their need to spend so much time sleeping.

I first entered the massive library on 42nd Street through a basement window in the dark of night. Books had been a huge part of my growing up, and Carlisle encouraged me in that passion as well. Perhaps he thought it would help to preserve whatever humanity remained in me. More importantly, those last months, spent mostly in rural areas, had left me starved for ideas beyond my own.

It didn't take long to catch the rhythms of the watchman who prowled the library's many rooms. I knew when he was coming my way and vanished until he'd passed on again. And there was everything in that library, not just books, but newspapers from around the world, scholarly dissertations, old manuscripts and maps. I read, as I do most things, quickly. For weeks, I virtually glutted myself with knowledge, always at night.

But I began to realize that I didn't stand out in Manhattan the way I had in other places. There were simply too many different kinds of people from all over the world. Everyone probably looked exotic to someone else, and no one gave the differences much thought.

I took to walking through the library doors in daylight hours, taking a seat as far away from other patrons as I could in the vast reading room, and trusting to luck that a sudden parting of the clouds wouldn't leave me trapped there till nightfall.

Looking back at what I've written so far, you might think I was only in New York to improve my mind. Even now I can't help wanting to make you think well of me, but this exercise is meant to show you the truth. I will get to it, but I can only do so in the way it came to me, slowly, insidiously so that by the time I recognized what was happening it was almost too late.

In the beginning, there was a balance. Most of my time was spent in innocent pastimes that might appeal to anyone young and eager to know every aspect of the world.

In fact, I think it's safe to say, I concentrated far more than most of my peers on intellectual pursuits. Humans – of almost any age – seemed preoccupied first and foremost with thoughts of love and romance and sex, not necessarily in that order, and that was an area absolutely off limits to me.

I knew myself well enough to recognize that my emotions tend toward the passionate. I was having enough trouble dealing with one instinctual drive. Another one to fight against could be my undoing.

Besides, I reasoned, the first was necessary to keep me alive, for want of a better word, plus it hurt no one but those I deemed a detriment to the human race. Allowing myself to acknowledge any attraction to a girl could spiral into her destruction, to say nothing of my own.

Admittedly, there was a part of me that couldn't help assessing the appeal of every female I met. It happened before I could stop it, but I told myself, it was no different than my automatic response to a never-before-seen sculpture or painting. All such reactions got relegated to a walled fortress in my mind. I can't honestly say that I never visited them, but only when I was alone and desperate – never in real life encounters.

For over a year, I managed to get by just on the money that my victims no longer needed. It was a sad commentary on society that so many of their pockets were well-filled. These weren't people driven by poverty to commit despicable acts. They were motivated by hatred or greed, the very vices they ignited in me.

It worked out nicely.

I needed no money for food, shelter or transportation. I moved constantly from one area of town to another, hiding my few belongings where I could or sometimes resorting to a locker at Grand Central Station, whose doors were open round the clock. My one material weakness was a taste for fine clothes, not fancy, mind you. I can't stand anything gaudy, but I do appreciate good tailoring.

I'd stroll by the shop windows on Fifth Avenue on a rainy day or at night when they were illuminated by electric lights, as all of Manhattan seemed to be, and admire the latest styles just in from Paris. Besides, I reasoned, there were some places I wanted to go, some neighborhoods I had reason to frequent where decent clothes were a necessary camouflage.

That's what prompted me to write to Carlisle. My exit from his house had been stormy and a bit impulsive. I can't say I was thinking ahead with any degree of practicality. The fact was I did have money, quite a bit of it, from my parents' estate, but it was languishing in a Midwest bank.

I knew Carlisle could find a way to get it to me, but would he? I thought it over and decided that he probably would. There wasn't a vindictive bone in his body. The greater question was could I bring myself to contact him.

I stewed over that for weeks and finally took a hotel room, which I did whenever I wanted to clean up and get away from the voices clamoring to get into my head. It was an inexpensive place on the lower east side, just genteel enough to offer pen and ink and a few sheets of writing paper.

I started that letter more than once.

The truth is I had no idea what to say. Simply requesting the money seemed unforgivably rude, and pretending a sudden concern for his welfare was beneath even me. My conviction that he'd be better off without me was sincere. I'd been proving the truth of it ever since I left.

What I'd told myself at the time – that he'd soon realize I was right and be glad I'd gone – was based on flimsier logic. In my cold, worthless heart I knew he would have worried about me for some time, and I'd never done a thing to alleviate that. I could have sent a postcard, saying I was alive and well, but I didn't.

Now that he'd no doubt pushed me from his mind, I was going to open that wound again for my own selfish purposes. I couldn't imagine what it must feel like to be responsible for creating another immortal, damning someone else to stalk and kill and exist in a cocoon of self-loathing for all eternity. I had no doubt that his motives had been pure, but the result had been me.

Did I really want to remind him of that?

I stared at myself in the pitted dresser mirror. "You are a despicable bastard," I said and got no argument from my reflection. _We've established_ _what you are_, my brain hissed,_ now act like it and write the damned letter_.

I did, finally opting for a stilted, "I am well. Hope you and Esme are too," as the only pleasantry. I requested a cashier's check. It took me two days to find someone who could make the necessary credentials to open a bank account and over a week to collect them. The whole thing might be for naught, but a few days later an envelope arrived for me general delivery at the Delancey Street post office. I opened it with more than a little trepidation. Yes, there was the check – for the full amount.

My relief was followed by an odd twinge in my stomach of something like pain or sorrow. I'd forgotten what they felt like, so it took a moment to identify the cause. Carlisle wasn't expecting my return. He had truly and finally washed his hands of me.

Well, what did I expect? What had I wanted? I jerked the accompanying letter from the envelope and flipped it open. As I might have predicted it was much more gracious than my own:

Dear Edward,

It was with great relief that I received your letter to find you are well and, I hope, reasonably happy. That Esme and I think of you often and wish only the best for you should go without saying. Please know that you are welcome here at any time and for however long you should choose to stay. I sincerely regret any pressure I may have brought upon you to make your time here less than what I would have wished. If there is anything else you need, never hesitate to ask.

Warm regards,

Carlisle

I swallowed back some emotion I didn't care to identify and started to put the paper in the leather bag that held my worldly goods. After reconsidering, I ripped it up and threw it in the waste basket. His kindness stung me, the way crucifixes are popularly thought to burn our kind.

If he knew what I'd been up to, the casual way I disposed of the human lives he fought to save, he would regret those words, I was sure. Better a clean break – after I'd gotten everything I could from him, of course.

I pocketed the check and headed uptown. That should put behind me any thoughts of the good Dr. Cullen secretly hoping for my return. Sometimes my own sentimentality appalls me. It is so misplaced in a predator. With the last of my money, I purchased a decent suit of clothes so I could more readily blend in with the ordinary people going about their business.

The bank manager greeted me with deference, became noticeably more enthusiastic when he saw the size of the check, then subsided again when I insisted on putting the bulk of the money in a safety deposit box. I listened politely to his impassioned arguments about the various financial instruments that would enhance my fortunes in no time at all, and then did exactly what I'd said I was going to do.

I had no logical basis for doing it, or at least not one that was shared by people far more expert than I. My father had maintained it was every gentleman's duty to understand finance, to make informed decisions that would ensure the well-being of his family. I'd paid little attention at the time. It was clear now that no one would ever look to me for support of any kind, financial or otherwise.

Equally certain was the fact that no one would ever look out for me. I needed to learn to do it, and as little as money figured into my plans, I'd begun to see it was essential to keeping my options open. I could go anywhere, do anything, and no power on earth could stop me, as long as I had the means to take me where I wanted to go.

I wasn't sure I understood economics at all. As much as I pored over the vast amount of information available, I couldn't get past the impression that the whole thing was basically imaginary, a vast illusion perpetrated by the beliefs of those who depended on it. Don't all bubbles burst?

Obviously, I was missing something, but nevertheless I had only my own counsel to rely on. If I started ignoring even that, I'd be lost, so I chose to freeze that money, much as I had been frozen in time. It would never grow or change, but it was virtually untouchable.

Eight months later, the stock market collapsed.

In a matter of days businesses were closing. Factories shut down their operations. Within weeks, people who had lost their homes were setting up tent cities in Central Park. Euphoria had switched seemingly overnight into a widespread sense of doom that affected rich and poor alike. Those who had scrimped and saved to make a better life were wiped out along with the recklessly greedy who caused it to happen.

A line kept running through my head from the last scene of Romeo and Juliet – _all are punish'd. _All, except for me. There was barely a ripple in the way I spent my days, my nights, and that seemed vaguely wrong. It was as if some biblical plague – a rain of frogs perhaps – had descended on all sinners and left the blackest among them frog-free. In what religion did that make sense?

I would have liked to talk to Frederick Anders about it, to see if he'd gleaned any wisdom in his religious studies that would shed light on what seemed to me a miscarriage of cosmic justice. My conversation with him had been the last I'd had with anyone, and that was months ago.

_Note: I realize you don't know who I'm talking about, I've skipped ahead over two years into my exile and need to go back to fill in some pertinent details._

I've said that my life in the city started out in an orderly fashion, feeding my thirst for knowledge and emotional stimulation during the day and most nights as well; feeding my body on those other nights, which called for an entirely different way of thinking and planning and acting. Here too the options were many.

I started with the obvious, areas where criminal activity was rampant, but with speakeasies flourishing in neighborhoods both affluent and destitute, there was really no part of the city where people didn't operate outside the law. It wasn't a prerequisite of mine, but it tended to attract those who were as indifferent to moral and ethical considerations as they were to legal ones.

Prostitution flourished just as much in exclusive areas as it did in poorer neighborhoods. Luxury hotels like the Essex and Waldorf did a thriving business, providing companionship for their wealthy guests.

In case you wonder how I know that, may I remind you that I read people's minds? The point was that no matter if it operates in a slum or uptown, the practice attracts a certain number of sadistic men to whom it represents a safe milieu in which to take out their aggression on women. They're a particularly cowardly breed that I quite enjoyed eliminating.

Predators, human ones I mean, tended to lurk in Central Park at night, which made a pleasant change. Then there were smuggling and union disputes going on down at the Seaport which drew a number of morally bankrupt participants. The sports venues fostered a healthy business in gambling that attracted a violent element, and there were areas where trafficking in illegal drugs brought some spectacularly soulless contenders.

This is not to say that any corner of the city was immune. Late one night, I had been enjoying the view from a certain penthouse whose tenants were out of town. The thirst was getting to me, and I was contemplating the nearest likely place for a meal, when a well-dressed young woman stepped out of a taxi far below.

She started up Park Avenue just as a second car pulled up beside her. The back door flew open, and a man in a dark overcoat jumped out, clapped his hand over her mouth and tried to pull her into the back seat.

I was already on my way down, a rather careless and unorthodox route involving a drainpipe, but it was nearly two in the morning. I doubted I'd be spotted.

The girl was putting up quite a struggle, kicking at her abductor's shins, grabbing onto a signpost. Where the hell was the doorman? I hit the street just as the car took off with a screech of tires. I stayed in the shadow of the apartment houses, making the corner at about the same time they did, but the light was red at 74th. They stopped.

I didn't.

The car made the turn and when it was halfway down the block I stepped out into the middle of the street. It struck with enough force to fling me onto the far sidewalk, or at least I contrived to give that impression. I lay obligingly still, listening to the conversation of the two men inside.

"Just gun it! I tell you, nobody saw that."

"Hold your horses will you? I gotta think about this." That was the driver.

"What's there to think about? You knocked the guy into next Wednesday. He's probably dead."

"Yeah, well what if he isn't? What if he saw the license plate? We've been planning this too long to screw it up now. Just give me a minute." He pulled the car to the curb, but left the engine running.

The door slammed, and I watched him walk toward me. I waited until I was sure he had picked me out in the shadows and then I wasn't there anymore. I was behind him, snapping his neck. He crumpled, and I leapt to the driver's door and yanked out the keys.

Before the man in the backseat could react, I was round to the other side nearly wrenching the door from its hinges. He still had his hand over the girl's mouth, and now I could see the knife he held beneath her chin.

"Get away or I'll slit her throat," he growled.

I ignored him and fastened my gaze on the wide-eyed girl. "No, he won't. I promise you. You're going to be fine. In just a little while I'll take you back to your apartment, but right now I need you to do something for me. When this gentleman lets go of you, which he's about to do, I want you to lock the doors and lie down on the seat. Close your eyes, and I'll knock on the window in a few minutes. Will you do that?"

She was so frightened that her thoughts were a jumble, but I sensed the moment when my words sank in. She nodded.

"Care to join me on the sidewalk?" I said pleasantly to her assailant, who reacted, as I knew he would, by plunging the knife toward my stomach. I caught his hand and twisted his wrist, snatching the knife as it fell. I could make good use of that. He flailed and cursed as I pulled him from the car and kicked the door shut, keeping him in a headlock while I made certain the girl was going to follow my instructions.

I think it's called killing two birds with one stone. A satisfying dinner and a troublesome problem taken care of simultaneously. I made a few alterations to the fatal wound, tossed the knife in the gutter and the body in the trunk. When I knocked on the window, the girl sat up and opened the door. She looked dazed, but no longer fearful.

I helped her gently out onto the street, put my arm around her waist and guided her slowly around the corner and up the block to a building with a green canopy. "You should really think of getting a doorman fulltime if you're going to be coming in at two o'clock in the morning."

She nodded mutely. I followed her through the deserted lobby to the elevator. In the seconds before the doors slid closed, she recovered enough to mumble a hasty "thank you."

Good. She was clearly in shock and would likely be fuzzy on the details of what happened tonight. In any case, I'd make it a point not to be in this area any time soon.

I put the incident behind me, as I did the memories of all my blood-soaked nights, so it was a jolt the next afternoon when I recognized the victim's photo at a newsstand.

She looked different when she wasn't frightened, less vulnerable, a little haughty. Above the picture a headline blared "Heiress's Kidnapping Thwarted – Two Dead." I briefly considered buying the paper, but what was the point in revisiting the scene of the crime?

Your sins have a way of following you around if they can manage it, however, and that night, I was perched outside a second-story window above Madison, listening to a concert on a nearby radio, when the news came on.

_Miss Lucille Madden Marshall, heiress to the Marshall Meat-Packing fortune, was abducted early this morning in front of her Park Avenue apartment building. Police say an unknown number of assailants forced the terrified young lady into an automobile at knifepoint, as she was returning to her parent's home from a charity function at the Plaza Hotel. _

_Investigators are still working to determine what happened next. Chief Inspector Patrick L. Heena of the 19__th__ Precinct told this reporter that the getaway car was found abandoned only a few blocks away, along with the bodies of two men presumed to have taken part in the kidnapping. _

"_One succumbed of a broken neck. The other was found in the trunk with his throat slashed," Heena said. "At this point we're looking at a possible falling out among the perpetrators. We suspect at least two are still at large, but we've located the owner of the vehicle and fully expect to make further arrests shortly."_

_Hopes that the victim, who was unharmed, would be able to shed light on this criminal enterprise gone awry have not panned out. "The poor kid was so scared, she doesn't know what she saw," Heena explained. _

_A little bird told this reporter that Miss Marshall claimed the fleeing auto struck a pedestrian on East 74__th__ Street. While this is, in fact, where the vehicle was found, canvassing of the neighborhood has turned up no evidence of anyone dead or injured. The heiress allegedly added that a young and handsome stranger came to her aid, dispatching her abductors and escorting her safely back to her parents. _

_So what do you think, ladies and gentlemen? Is there a mysterious hero roaming our fair city? Another Zorro or Scarlet Pimpernel perhaps, whose mission is to rescue damsels in distress? If there is, you'll hear it first on this station, so please stay tuned!_

I threw an incredulous scowl in the general direction of the radio. How had the human race survived this long when they were so quick to find fault with each other and even more eager to take the hints of monsters in their midst and sugarcoat them? No wonder they preferred pulp magazines to the classics.

_Note: As it happens, I know what became of Miss Lucille Marshall. About a year later the papers reported she had eloped with a minor aristocrat from Eastern Europe. You may think I'm attempting a joke here, Carlisle, but I swear I'm not. He came from Transylvania. Make of that what you will._

I include the above anecdote to illustrate that I was never far from a satisfying meal, no matter where I went in the city. Manhattan was just as perfect for vampires as it was for businessmen, laborers, restaurateurs – the list goes on. Diverse enough for us not to stand out, filled with potential prey and dark corners in which to enjoy them.

I fully expected to encounter other immortals all the time. The fact that I didn't only tells me they were generally as careful as I am about leaving no trace. I'm still convinced New York is crawling with them. What matters here is the few that did cross my path.

The first was one night down at the docks on the Brooklyn side of the river. I was confident a meal would be delivered to me, if I waited patiently. I was passing the time enjoying the view of the skyline, when I became aware of someone nearby only seconds before he spoke.

"Come here often, do you?"

The voice from the shadows was silky with a peculiar clarity. That and the fact that I hadn't heard its owner approach told me I was in the presence of another vampire. Instantly, I fought to get the curiosity flooding my brain under control. A power play was almost inevitable and any sign of weakness not an option. Accordingly, I didn't turn around but continued to gaze out over the black river. "Sometimes," I answered at last, "on moonless nights."

"The best time, indeed. Still, one has to be patient. It's great sport though, isn't it? Waiting for that automobile to appear, engine off, head lamps extinguished. Out pop the hooligans dragging something that until lately has been _someone _and off it goes into the drink. They're reveling in their wickedness – you can actually smell it – and only you know they're innocent as newborn lambs compared to the wickedness that awaits them. Usually, it's only two or three, but one night I hit the jackpot. There were five altogether, waving their foolish little guns around, and every one of them screamed like monkeys when they died."

"Is that why you chose them – for their wickedness?"

His laugh was unrestrained. "Good God, no. I chose them for the same reason I imagine you do, because no one who matters would miss them."

It was not the answer I'd hoped for, but it was the one I'd expected. Turning, I found him sitting on an oil drum, his overcoat collar turned up against a wind he didn't feel. Late 30's. Tall and rangy, his hair slicked back, dark and shiny as the river. His eyebrows rose when he saw my face.

"Great Scott, you are young! What were you 20, 21?"

"Seventeen," I said, expressionless. My eyes locked on his.

"And this happened how long ago?"

"Not long."

"Then you're very clever to have figured out the advantages of this particular hunting ground. Let me guess, you were turned somewhere on the battlefields of France."

"No, in a hospital. I was dying of influenza."

"You don't say! Well, if that doesn't take the cake. I'd have to think long and hard to come up with a transformation more cowardly than that. Attacking the sick and helpless. What's the world coming to?"

I felt a jump in the temper I was keeping carefully in check. "He was trying to save me. He's the bravest man I've ever known."

"Ah, at least you show loyalty to the one who changed you. Admirable, very admirable."

"What about you?" I said. I couldn't help myself. There were so many things I still wanted to know, and who knew when I'd get another opportunity like this one. "Were you loyal to the person who turned you?"

"Oh, absolutely, although now that you bring it up, I suppose I can match your transformation story for sheer opportunism. I was dead drunk, lying face down in a seaside alley. Marseilles. 1810. The man who accosted me was no bigger than a boy of 12, so he could hardly be blamed for taking advantage of the situation. Formidable little fighter though, as it turned out."

"You remained with him?"

"For nearly 30 years. We made a good team, he and I. You see, I always looked like I could take care of myself. He didn't. Our victims were usually looking the wrong direction when they died." He smiled at the memory. "But ultimately we're solitary creatures, don't you find?"

"I couldn't say. You're only the third vampire I've met."

"Is that a fact? Not surprising, I suppose, considering how new you are to the game. I am amazed, though, that you'd choose such a problematic hunting ground. A young fellow like yourself would have an easy time finding, let's say, sweeter morsels than are likely to turn up here."

"What do you mean?"

"I'd think that was obvious. What about the ladies? With your youth and good looks surely they come to you. Much better sport there, my boy. Man does not live by blood alone." He grinned at his own joke.

"No." I frowned. This was something I'd been mulling over, and now I could get a more seasoned opinion. "I've noticed that women seem to be more sensitive to what we are. I've seen their furtive glances on the street, and when I'm obliged to speak to them face to face, they sometimes lose track of what they're saying. Their hearts speed up as well. Men seem far more oblivious."

I was seeking confirmation of my theory. Instead, he burst out laughing. "My word, you are green, aren't you? Well, my advice to you would be to take advantage of your gifts. Fresh, sweet-smelling flesh offers so many delights. Have you ever tried a child? Not filling, of course, but remarkably tender."

I didn't let the disgust show on my face. He'd reminded me of something else I wanted to ask. "I've heard that some vampires have special gifts, abilities beyond the usual for our kind. Have you ever come across anything like that?"

"Indeed." He appeared totally at ease, his hands clasped loosely between his knees. "I met a man in Morocco who could influence the minds of animals. Not humans, you understand, but it was impressive nonetheless.

"One night he trained his thoughts on a sleeping camel. It got up and walked a straight line into the nearest tent. Fully occupied, it was too. You should have heard the shouts and curses. The men tried everything, short of damaging their valuable property, to get the creature out, but it wouldn't budge.

"They ended up taking the tent down around it, at which point, the camel got up and walked away. Very funny. Good for winning wagers, but I never saw him put it to any real practical use. Now if he'd been able to do that with humans – that would have been a worthwhile skill."

"What about you?"

"Me? Gifted? I'm afraid not. But with an affable nature and superior wits I find I can meet most any crisis. Tonight, for example, I discover someone poaching on one of my favorite game reserves. That calls for some serious thought. Just exactly what am I supposed to do about you?"

"Surely there's enough prey for two."

"Well, that's not the point now, is it? You may not have realized it yet, but the more of us there are in one area, the more likely we are to be exposed. I could be a nice fellow and agree to split the territory, but what happens when you slip up and someone figures out what you are? Suddenly, we're all out of our cozy fairytale existence and into the real world."

He rose gracefully and began walking toward me. I had never moved at all.

"Now there is a solution that could benefit everyone. What if we were to join forces, you and I? I could answer all your questions about this new world you find yourself in, and you could be my ticket into a more genteel society. No cross purposes. What do you say? Care to be partners?"

"You mean like you and Alfonse?"

"Exactly, we could . . ." His smile, so genuine-looking a second before shimmered and vanished like the mirage it was. "What . . . how do you know his name?"

In that second of hesitation, the one in which he'd meant to rip my throat out, I was behind him, pulling him off balance, my arm locked around his neck. "Isn't that what you said?" I growled into his ear, 'Au revoir, Alfonse,' as you killed him while he fed?"

I didn't wait for an answer or for him to recover his superior wits. With a loud crack, I wrenched his head from his body. "You forgot to ask if I had a gift," I murmured, as both pieces dropped to the ground.

I stood there waiting for my emotions to catch up. Nothing resembling guilt. Despite his glib chatter, his every thought had been of eliminating me from the moment he made his presence known. And he might have succeeded, if I hadn't taken him off guard. He was bigger than me, more experienced and I'd dispatched him with a minimum of fuss. There seemed no reason not to congratulate myself – none until it dawned on me that the job was only half-finished.

According to Carlisle, who had actually seen it happen, the mutilated corpse at my feet had an excellent chance of recovery. Rip it to pieces, that's what he'd said you had to do. Could I do that? And how many pieces? Surely, the lack of a head could be counted as a greater handicap than a missing limb.

I didn't wait to find out. A sharp twist at the knees and the legs snapped. The arms were even easier. I tossed them all aside and began rummaging through my pockets for something to start a fire. Without that the whole grizzly exercise could be for nothing.

I came up empty handed and almost simultaneously – from the corner of my eye – caught the subtle movement of a severed leg sliding my way.

Panic began to set in. I considered dumping the entire mess in the river. Would the pieces get jumbled up with the other detritus and go their separate ways or still manage to reconstruct themselves under water? I had no idea and couldn't take that chance.

My hands were raking my hair from sheer nerves, my feet kicking at the squirming body parts, and my eyes scanning the area frantically in case some thug with horrible timing picked this moment to dispose of a body. If he had, he would have probably taken me for an escapee from a lunatic asylum.

_Note: Carlisle, please remind me – if I'm ever feeling particularly charitable toward Emmett to tell him this story. He'll find it hilarious_.

Finally, I dispersed the pieces as far from each other as I could without losing one in the river or leaving another where it might be seen from the street, and sped off in search of the nearest speakeasy where I purloined a book of matches.

When I returned, I ripped open the oil drum and hurried to gather up body parts, which wasn't that difficult since they were noticeably closer together than when I'd left them. It took a lot more ripping and snapping to fit everything into the drum. I lit a match, praying that there was enough residue left inside to aid my cause, and tossed it in.

There was a gratifying whoosh of flames. I sighed in relief and retreated into the shadows to keep watch until the fire had done its work, mentally admonishing myself to invest in a reliable lighter.

That was my first conflict with another immortal, and though my execution of his destruction was ridiculously clumsy, I can assure you he was destroyed.


	19. Kindred Spirits

Chapter 19

Kindred Spirits

My second encounter with another immortal occurred some seven months later. It was the smell of fresh blood that drew me, out of place in the sedate neighborhood where I found myself. I followed the scent to the iron fence surrounding Gramercy Park.

As always the gates were locked. Only surrounding residents were allowed to enter with their highly prized golden keys, and they weren't likely to be doing so at 3 a.m. An eight-foot barrier is not much of a deterrent to someone like me. I cleared it easily and followed the smell to a clump of bushes just inside the fence.

The ground around the body was soaked with blood. It burned my throat and made me wonder how the humans sleeping in their houses nearby, even with their inferior senses, could possibly not be awakened by the power of it.

I held my breath and fought against the discomfort, while I examined what lay before me. It was a young man, decently dressed, though not so richly that he might be a resident of the immediate area. He was bloodless. His throat had been savaged, but there had been absolutely no attempt to disguise the bite marks still evident on the ragged flesh.

I stepped away, puzzled. If there's one rule engrained in our kind it is that we never leave clues to our existence. I myself was always careful to muddy the waters with a little extraneous mutilation, something to confuse the authorities, who really don't want to believe that monsters exist and appreciate your compliance in the delusion. I did that now, disguising the obvious as best I could, before leaping back over the fence.

Most likely, the victim had been attacked on the street and tossed into the park where his blood could be savored away from prying eyes. So if he hadn't been interrupted, why had this unknown vampire not completed the job properly? The question troubled me. I didn't like having my self-preservation compromised by someone so careless.

I set out to explore the area more thoroughly. Just a short way to the south was a place known as Pete's Tavern that had first opened its doors during the civil war. With prohibition it had been transformed into a flower shop, but even I knew that the liquor still flowed freely behind the façade.

It could very well be what had drawn the hapless young man to this neighborhood. If that was the case, the vampire who killed him might return for other likely victims, so I made it a point in the coming nights to go there frequently – with no results.

The next week I widened my search, moving out toward the east and the Gashouse district. New apartment houses were going up to replace one of the city's worst slums, until lately home to only the poorest people who suffered at the hands of feuding gangs and grew sick from gas fumes escaping the enormous tanks that lined the East River.

Only one of those tanks remained, and it made a terrific watchtower for someone intent on surveying the area. I like heights. I like knowing exactly who and what is in my vicinity. It was beautiful up there as well, with the lights of the city spread around me.

Late one night a woman's screams distracted me from the aesthetics. They might mean nothing more than a drunken quarrel, but when I followed them to their source, I found some reward for my vigilance.

That's a terrible thing to say. It was a terrible scene. No one but a monster would think of it any other way.

The woman was young and freshly killed, her body sprawled next to a heap of rubbish. The only wound was the teeth marks where her killer had drained her dry.

I felt my temper rising. He could still be close. I prayed furiously that he was, all the time searching my head for his thoughts and finding only whispers of far away random people. Then the sound came – so close. I whirled, emitting a feral growl, ready to rip him apart where he hid in the shadowed doorway behind me.

Thank God, my other reflexes are as quick as the impulse to attack. I stared, as the sound came again, this time clearly a frightened whimper, and saw a small child cowering on the step.

My arm dropped and I drew a desperate, calming breath before inching cautiously forward. Instinctively, I dropped to my knees in front of him. He was so little – not much more than a baby. Could he even walk – or talk? His mouth quivered as he looked at me with enormous, tear-stained eyes.

"It's all right," I whispered. "I'm not going to hurt you – truly."

He continued to stare at me, and then pointed a chubby finger at the broken body on the sidewalk. "Mama?"

"I know." I nodded, at a loss to know how to comfort him. "Do you know where your papa is?"

That didn't appear to register. Of course, it didn't. Children this age didn't hold conversations. "Mama" could very well be the only word he knew. I wasn't certain whether that meant he wouldn't understand anything I said or not. I could only try, tuning my voice to its most mellow and appealing.

"You're going to be fine. I'll help you. We'll find someone who can take care of you and get you back to your family." There was no response, but at least the whimpering had stopped.

Slowly, I held out my hands. "Can I carry you? Will you come with me?"

Had he seen me abusing his mother's corpse? Did a child this age remember atrocities that happened before his eyes? To my surprise, he leaned forward, allowing my hands to slip under his arms in obvious expectation of being lifted. I did that, slowly and very cautiously. I had never held a small child in my life. He was so soft, so fragile. Tiny shivers rippled through him.

For one cowardly moment I wished fervently that it had been a murderous vampire waiting in the shadows. I would have known how to handle that. I wouldn't have felt this fear. In his slight weight, I sensed a burden of innocence and trust that terrified me.

Was I even capable of protecting such a thing? I closed my eyes, searching for some remnant of the human traits I'd all but abandoned, and the child put his arms around my neck. His head dropped to my shoulder.

With my free hand, I stroked his silky hair. I could do this. I would do it. I opened my eyes and looked toward the murdered woman. Her shawl lay beside her, only a little bloodied. I moved slowly to the spot, shielding the little face against my shoulder, and picked it up, wrapping it around the tiny body.

My only plan at the moment was to move out of this desolate place to a more civilized area a few blocks away. The nearest police station would have been a logical goal for most people in this situation, except that it was totally out of the question.

How self-destructive would I have to be to march into such a place, carrying a frightened child wrapped in a bloody shawl, a shawl that could be easily connected to a mutilated corpse just a stone's throw away?

A hospital. There were several in the area, the nearest on East 20th Street. I made my way there as swiftly as I could without jolting my companion who I suspected had fallen asleep. At least the shivering had stopped.

Once there, I faced another quandary. I couldn't just leave him on the doorstep where he might toddle away. Inside, I'd likely meet enough suspicion to warrant a phone call to the police. Even if I just handed him over and promptly disappeared, it would raise questions, and there was already one idiotic vampire jeopardizing our secret.

I stood under the shadow of a tree in sight of the hospital entrance, waiting for inspiration. It came about 15 minutes later in the form of an old Studebaker that puffed noisily to the curb. A young woman in a nurse's uniform got out and called to the driver, "I'll be through at seven, papa. If I have to stay any longer, I'll telephone you."

The car pulled away and at the same instant I materialized between the girl and the hospital steps.

"Oh, my goodness, you startled me! I didn't see you there."

"I beg your pardon," I said in my most mellifluous tone. "I have something of an emergency. I hope you can help me."

"I'm sure we can." There it was, that loss of composure. She stared into my eyes, blinking. Her cheeks flushed and I could hear her heart rate increasing.

_Would you please work on looking a little less scary_, I reminded myself in silent irritation.

"Just come inside and we'll see what we can do to help."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," I said and removed the shawl from the little boy, who was in fact sound asleep, my hand carefully covering the blood stain. "I found him wandering the streets. Perhaps you can care for him until his family is located."

She pulled her eyes from mine. "Oh, the poor little thing! His parents must be frantic. By all means, bring him right in."

"It's my job," I said with all the sincerity of a consummate liar. "I was supposed to report for duty some time ago, but, of course, I couldn't leave this little one to fend for himself. I'm a firefighter. It can be dangerous to leave the brigade short-handed."

"Yes, I see," she breathed, once again gazing into my eyes. "Such noble work. You must face death nearly every day."

"Not quite so often," I answered, gently maneuvering the sleeping child into her arms. "Please, do what you can to find his family."

"I promise," she called after me, as I raced off, ostensibly on a noble pursuit.

Sometimes I sincerely hate myself.

Oh, I could justify my deceit by claiming to have done something right, but the fact is, any human being would have done the same with no hesitation and felt good about it afterwards. For me, the gesture was so tangled up with mutilating a murdered mother and lying to a kind young nurse that I could only feel disgust.

Not that my good deed went unpunished. For caring about someone else, even for the briefest time, I'm left never knowing what happened to that little boy.

I could tell myself he was rescued by a loving father and siblings and grandparents, but it's just as likely he was placed in some hell-hole of an orphanage till he was dumped penniless on the streets to live a miserable existence.

That's what comes of having the bad luck to encounter two monsters on one fateful day.

A few nights later, I found what I'd been looking for.

I was back at my observation post on the towering gas tank, sorting out the myriad voices that rose up from the streets below. There were the usual street fights and liquor-fueled brawls, nothing of particular interest until a high-pitched shriek cut through the rest.

It grabbed my attention as I recognized it as a man's voice. Men don't usually make that sound unless confronted with something completely out of their experience.

I hit the ground and covered the five or six blocks at blinding speed but still arrived too late to catch him in the act. That it was the renegade vampire, I had no doubt. The victim he left behind was bloodless and stamped with telltale bite marks that might just as well have been a neon sign.

Furious, I picked up a rusty strip of metal and dragged it across the ruined throat before taking off in pursuit. I needn't have hurried. I spotted him only three blocks away, lumbering along, his clothes smeared with blood.

I forced myself to calm down and assess the situation, following at a discreet distance. The man was wide and brawny, likely to be much stronger than me. Ordinarily, I had ways to compensate for that disadvantage, but something was not right.

Although he was directly in my line of vision, I couldn't get a lock on his thoughts. They seemed to be so much gibberish. I had a smattering of several languages and could usually get the gist of someone's intentions, but this meant nothing.

I finally decided it must be some Balkan dialect, completely foreign to my experience. The images that accompanied it were even worse. His entire focus was on killing. He wasn't even taking note of his surroundings or visualizing any past or future activities beyond savaging everyone he could.

I sprang up to the crumbling window sill of the derelict factory beside me and made my way higher as I progressed down the street. If I'd ever considered trying to reason with this rogue, it was now a moot point and that meant grabbing any kind of physical advantage I could. I was directly above his head, and he still hadn't noticed me. He must be the least observant immortal in the history of our kind.

It struck me then that he could be a newborn. His age – he looked to be about 50 – and weathered face had thrown me off entirely. Was that the reason for his reckless behavior? It was another thing I wasn't destined to know.

As we neared the intersection, two men came around the corner. They were dressed in work clothes, swinging lunch pails as they joked together, unaware of the imminent danger. With a guttural roar, the big vamp was on the larger of the two men, flinging him to the ground. There was no good reason for it. His thirst had to have been sated by the first victim.

I stopped analyzing and pushed off of the building, aiming for his head, driving all my strength into him, feet first, and knocking him a good twenty feet away from his victim.

It was enough to temporarily immobilize him. Before he could recover, I was on him again, driving my knee into his chest and shouting at the second man to run. Miraculously, his companion struggled to his feet and stumbled after him.

I'd succeeded in drawing all the Balkan's attention to me, which was a good thing for the men desperately making their escape but not very advantageous for me. Two massive arms shot up and catapulted me straight into a brick wall, never a pleasant experience. When I could focus again, he was bearing down on me, spewing what I was reasonably sure were curses, and baring his teeth like a jackal.

What followed was fairly easy for me. The man had absolutely no strategy. Even without being able to read his thoughts I could surmise just about every move before he made it and avoid it handily.

What I hadn't figured out was how to overpower him. His weight had to be nearly double mine. I dodged his attacks time and again, hoping the frustration building in his livid expression would further hamper his efforts.

While I was managing to be somewhere other than where he was aiming those jackhammer fists, I was scanning the surroundings for ideas on how to end this and finally came up with a possibility.

I snapped back to the other side of the street, rushed him with the momentum of a runaway train and head butted him in the solar plexus, driving him back toward the only remaining wall of a decaying tenement building. His weight hit it at a pretty good speed and I leapt away just before the rotted wood collapsed, covering him, the rest tumbling into the exposed cellar.

It wouldn't stop him for long, but I did. I ended his existence before he could struggle out of the wreckage and rolled his dismembered body into the basement. It made a convenient fire pit, and this time I was prepared to light it.

It went up like so much dried kindling, smoke billowing out into the streets. While I monitored it all night, no fire brigade ever came; a fact that gave me mixed feelings. In the morning, I kicked through the ashes till satisfied that my enemy was well and truly gone.

Then there was one night in an alley uptown with a warm rain falling.

I was just surfacing from that deep, dark chamber of bliss where all was forgotten, all forgiven, as some hapless human's blood became my own – that place of blackest crimson that looked a lot like Hell – when I realized I wasn't alone.

Ironic that the moment we are most our true selves is also the moment of our greatest vulnerability.

From my position, kneeling on the pavement, he looked to be about eight feet tall. I rose, letting the dry husk of my victim slide from my grasp, and decided he was more like six and a half.

"You always so sloppy with your supper, boy?"

A millisecond glance downward assured me I hadn't lost my knack for avoiding bloodstains on my clothes. The stranger was looking at the remains of my meal where a perfect impression of my teeth was still visible on the twisted neck.

"I was just about to take care of that," I said, turning my back on the questioner. Slowly and methodically, I obscured the evidence under the more acceptable guise of a slashed throat, then stood and brushed some invisible lint from my sleeves.

It was one of my favorite ploys, turning my back on an opponent. The total lack of fear it implied was designed to throw them off balance. Why wasn't I intimidated by them? What did I know that had escaped their notice?

Everything they were thinking, of course.

I was every bit as aware of their intentions and movements as I would have been face to face, but they never knew that.

I turned to find the man studying me with a puzzled look. It was easy to return it. I'd never seen a vampire who wasn't bone white before. This one's muscular bare arms gleamed dark as the rain-covered cobbles.

"You always do things the hard way?" He strode past me and picked up an enormous chunk of concrete, dropping it unceremoniously on my dinner's head. It did not make an appetizing sound. "That's the way you do it. Nobody's gonna have the stomach to ask questions about a mess like that."

Maybe, but I still had plenty of my own. Here was an immortal unlike any I'd seen before. Where had he come from? What was his story? I asked the first one.

"Why you want to know that?" he said, flashing brilliant white teeth. "It's not like we're fixin' to be friends, now is it? We both know only one of us going to leave this place."

Great. Why did I have to belong to the only species on earth that seemed intent on wiping itself out? "Then it can't hurt to answer the question."

He shook his head, evidently amused, then leered at me in a ghastly parody of a tribal mask. "I come from deep in the heart of the Congo, land of the cannibals!"

In his mind, I saw jungles, yes, and white sand beaches with palm trees and a city – a vibrant city gleaming with impressive new buildings. I thought I recognized it from the news reels. He was from Africa in the same way I was from the British Isles – only by virtue of his ancestors.

"What did you do there?" I persisted.

He'd begun circling me and now he chuckled. "Why, what do you think, boy? Head hunting, that's what. I got me a collection of pretty little heads like yours, all shrunk up so they could fit in your pocket."

He was thoroughly enjoying himself now and so was I, in a way. The reality I saw in his head was more fascinating to me than the one he was concocting. He was dressed in a tuxedo and playing . . . a trombone, part of an orchestra in a lavish night club.

Havana.

That was the city. Like me, he'd enjoyed music. I wondered if he still played. After all, it was possible to pack a trombone, unlike my chosen instrument, the only object I missed from my former life.

"Who changed you?" I asked, noting the way he seemed to be mumbling under his breath each time he passed in front of me.

"Oh, a mighty chieftain. Had a bone stuck clean through his nose," he said, still drawing on some image he'd probably seen in the movies – or a comic book.

That was the biggest lie he'd told yet, I mused, as a clear image of the real occasion flashed from his brain to mine.

"And he lay a powerful spell on me. You hear of the voodoo, boy? He make it so no vampire can touch me. I kill them easy, and they never strike a blow."

Interestingly, he believed that last part.

I saw a ceremony with an eviscerated chicken and a cup filled with human teeth, among other grisly items, but there was no mighty chieftain involved – just a wizened old lady, and it appeared to take place in a garage, not an African hut. Quickly, I catalogued the motions he'd made in his circuit around me.

"I've heard of such a spell," I said.

"That a fact?"

"Immortals all over the world are searching for someone who can perform that kind of black magic, to make them invincible among their own kind." I hoped I looked suitably envious, but just to make it more convincing I added, "From what I've heard, it involves swallowing human teeth and certain incantations spoken while you stalk your prey – gestures, two to the head, three to the heart."

"So it does!" he exclaimed, grinning, clearly delighted that whatever mumbo-jumbo he'd probably paid good money for was supposedly a staple of vampire lore. "But knowing some about it won't help you, boy. You gotta have the magic put on you. Now, I've killed me a powerful lot of vampires and not one of them ever laid hands on me."

Two, I corrected him mentally. You've killed two vampires, not what I'd classify as a lot. And I was much less worried about his alleged magic than the eighty or so pounds he clearly had on me. "Well, there is that one famous incident when the voodoo backfired. What a mess that was."

"Backfired?" He paused in his circling. "You mean killed the man it's s'posed to protect?"

So I wasn't the only one capable of curiosity after all. "Apparently there's a catch, and some people who perform the magic don't bother to explain it, but it wouldn't apply to you."

His eyes narrowed, as if he suspected I was withholding pertinent information. "What catch?"

"Just that if you were made immortal by a woman, then the third time you rely on the spell, you die instantly."

I gave it a moment. Just long enough for what I'd said to sink in and throw him off his course, then I came up under him, gouging out his throat and breaking his neck in one swipe.

Mighty chieftain, my eye. He'd been changed by a wisp of a girl, and if her attire was any indication, it had happened in a brothel.

I was getting a little disgusted with my own kind. Not only were they all out to kill each other, but you couldn't believe a word any of them said – myself included.

And just because you have a lighter in your possession does not mean you'll have an easy time of it when you're ready to dispose of your enemy. The rain made it a long drawn-out affair that put me in a foul mood.

There were so many things I could be doing on a Saturday night in one of the world's great cities. Dismembering and burning someone I had nothing particular against would not have been high on my list, but the fact that he was committed to eliminating me made it a necessity.

To be completely thorough, there was a fourth encounter. It was different from the others, yet should be included as only my impression makes it so, and an outsider might see something different.

This was months later, as it was winter again. My eye color had darkened enough not to appear abnormal to humans, but the hunger hadn't built to a point that would make me dangerous to them – if I didn't wish to be.

Snow had been falling off and on all week, and I marveled at how something so fragile and beautiful could slow the city to a dull echo of itself, when poverty and desperation had not.

I began my walk in Riverside Park. As it was a Sunday, most people didn't need to leave their homes and chose not to venture out in the cold where the flurries could be almost blinding at times and the ground crackled like glass. My idea of a perfect day.

It was on a quiet residential street in Greenwich Village that I noticed an elderly man kneeling in front of an old Model T, attempting to move the crank.

"Can I give you a hand with that?" I offered, as I approached.

He hesitated for a moment and then looked up at me. Despite the white hair, his pale face had few lines or wrinkles. He might have been any age from 50 to 70. He studied me for a moment before turning back to his task. "I imagine you could give it a pretty good spin, at that. Actually, I could have myself if I hadn't been aware that someone was watching me."

"Watching?" My eyes reflexively swept the windows in the brownstones around us. "Who?"

"Why you, of course." He brushed his hands on his trousers and stood, turning to me with an amused smile. "Now I see you weren't likely to be amazed by an old man's dexterity. I'm Frederick Anders by the way."

The hand held out to me was as cold and as strong as my own. "Edward Masen."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Edward. I wasn't really looking forward to driving the blasted thing anyway. It's just something I do now and then to keep up appearances." He continued to regard me with good humor, while I remained cautious, unsure if what I suspected was going on here was real or just the product of my own wishful thinking.

"I have a book shop over on Bleecker that does pretty well," he continued. "I thought the auto would be a nice finishing touch on my middle class portrait. Everybody seems to want one nowadays."

"You know, they make them with starters now that work from the driver's seat."

"The shop isn't quite _that_ successful," he said with a laugh. "An older model seemed more fitting for someone running a small business. Are you interested in automobiles?"

"Interested, yes."

"Would you like to have this one?"

I wondered if his problem wasn't immortality after all, but insanity. "I'm interested in them in a theoretical way. It's a fascinating invention, but in reality I find them a little . . ."

"Slow?" He nodded, appearing unsurprised. "I can't argue with that, but in a few decades I wouldn't be surprised if they found a way to make them go 100 miles an hour. It's one of the great advantages of our kind, don't you think, that we can watch the progress of civilization? Aeroplanes, for instance, who would have dreamed such a thing could be possible?"

I allowed myself to relax. The thoughts in his head were no different than his words. He recognized what I was immediately. I'd been less sure of his own nature. He might have been a hunter of vampires, if such a thing existed outside of legend, but I found no trace of hostility in his mind, only a curiosity similar to my own.

"Actually, they were already flying when I was growing up."

"Ah, you're a recent convert then. Interesting. I have a few centuries on you, though nothing that could compare with the Volturi." He stopped, and I could see the concern in his mind before it crossed his handsome features. "You do know about the Volturi, don't you?"

"I do."

"Well, that's good. By the way, am I keeping you from something or would you like to take a walk with me?"

"That might be a good idea," I answered, aware suddenly of how odd we must look to human eyes, standing in the street while snow swirled around us, chatting like neighbors on a sunny day.

I turned at the same time he did and started walking toward Washington Square, which was clear as a picture postcard in his thoughts. "Have you ever met them," I asked. "The Volturi?"

"No, thank God. They're like any other sort of government, a kind of necessary evil that it's best to avoid. So far, I've succeeded in doing nothing to attract their attention. I'd recommend the same for you. Their attention is never a good thing."

We stopped at the corner, but for once, there was no traffic to prevent our crossing. "So I've told you what I'm doing in this incarnation, posing as a harmless shopkeeper. What about you?"

"Nothing," I said, suddenly embarrassed. "I don't really do anything."

"Oh, come now. You must find something to occupy your time between feedings."

"I explore the city, listen to music, and I read a lot."

"Surely that's the first duty of every young man," he said, "to educate himself. The more you know about the world, the better able you'll be to navigate it. And in the case of our sort, it's an ongoing process. We must keep up with changing times in order to blend in with society. I try to keep abreast of what's going on – hence the bookshop. At the end of the week I'm sailing for Europe, taking up a teaching position again – in Heidelberg this time."

He lowered his voice suddenly, as if afraid someone might be listening. "I often wonder if the Volturi might have lost touch with what's happening in the rest of the world, sequestered as they are in their little fortress. It could be a fatal mistake, even for ones so seemingly invulnerable."

"If they never go out, how do they hunt?" I'd been hesitant to pose the question to Carlisle for whom the issue of their disdain for human life had obviously been a painful subject.

"From what I've heard, they have their meals brought in. Travelers have such romanticized notions of those old walled cities. They flock to them expecting to be amused by their quaintness and many, I wager, never leave. No one suspects foul play in Volterra where residents enjoy an outstanding degree of safety. The Volturi have definitely learned a thing or two over their long reign."

We crossed Waverly Place into the deserted park. It looked especially beautiful, everything softly mounded with snow, the fountain frozen in mid-spectacle. Both of us automatically made a show of knocking the snow from the bench before we sat down, in case somebody in one of the surrounding buildings was watching.

"So tell me, young Edward, where do you do your hunting?"

My answer was vague though truthful. "Different parts of the city." I was enjoying this interchange, the longest conversation I'd had with anyone in recent memory, and I wasn't anxious for him to start telling me he dined on vulnerable little old ladies or "tender" children like the nameless vamp at the docks.

"Good boy. Always better to diversify. Keeps the authorities from putting two and two together." He was about to drop the subject, but I couldn't do a thing to stop the next, more embarrassing one, that crossed his mind.

"If it's not too personal, I'm curious about how someone changed at such a crucial point in his life deals with the more human urges. I was well into middle-age when I was turned. I'd had a wife, a few youthful indiscretions, in short, a bit of education at managing my desires. I'm guessing that you were too young to have much experience in that regard."

I couldn't blush. I knew that, but the memory of how easily I once had, given a complexion that was already fair before my transformation, came back like a physical sensation. "No, none." I admitted awkwardly.

"Well, that's probably for the best. It's easier to do without pleasures you've never known."

"I try not to think about that. I don't . . . I don't want to drive myself crazy." In for a penny, in for a pound. There was no good reason not to be completely honest with this man, who might have answers to some of my most guilty questions, and who I was unlikely to ever meet again in my long existence. "My emotions can be a little . . . strong at times. I think I'm getting quite good at controlling them, however."

He nodded his approval. "With creatures like us to whom almost everything is possible, restraint is a difficult and valuable quality to master. You're wise to practice it, but when it comes to desires of the flesh, we're not simply talking about physical instincts but emotional needs as well. That can be a lot to fight against."

"But I have to . . . I know I can never . . ." I was floundering again, embarrassed by the subject matter and my own naiveté. In my companion's thoughts I felt sincere sympathy and goodwill, but something else as well, an emotion I could never abide having aimed at myself. Pity.

I stood up abruptly, causing a minor avalanche across the back of the bench. "I have to go now. It was a pleasure meeting –"

"Edward, I'm fairly certain you do not have to go," he said regarding me with an expression that would have been called kind on a human face. "Please, sit down. There are things you should talk about with another immortal, one who's not trying to kill you."

I hesitated and then smiled ruefully. "You are the first one I've met here who wasn't."

"I don't doubt it. We're not exactly the most sociable species on earth. Who knows, if I weren't leaving the country, I might be trying to kill you myself."

I had to laugh at that. It was so absurd and at the same time quite possibly true. I sat back down.

"Never is a foolish word to use when you live forever. Trust me. I've regretted saying it often. There may come a time and a situation when you'll be grateful for your virility."

I shook my head. "I don't see how. It wouldn't be possible with a human. I mean, we can injure someone just by touching them unless we're very careful. It takes concentration."

"Granted. I've heard rumors of such relations being possible, but the only incidents I know about firsthand ended badly." He gave me a speculative look. "Of course, for many of our kind that isn't a deterrent. They do it anyway."

I let the distaste show in my expression. "Rapists are worse than murderers. They're the lowest form of coward."

"I tend to agree with you, particularly when the rape ends in murder as a matter of course. I may be a predator but I'm not a sadist. A swift assault on the throat is not the worst way for a human to die. My situation, though , is quite different from yours.

"I didn't marry till later in life. I'd been with my share of women and generally relished the experience. It wasn't until I met the woman I was to marry that I realized how much more fulfilling the act could be when there's true affection involved. Night and day, my boy. Mary was an energetic, sunny little soul. We were quite happy together for nearly 18 years. Smallpox ended that."

"I'm sorry," I said, wondering if it was really true that it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. I rather selfishly hoped it wasn't, since the second seemed my only option.

"And here's the part that may interest you. I found love a second time and with an intensity I never thought possible. It happened when I was every bit as undead as you are now."

"She was a vampire?" I said, distractedly reading his mind before he could say the word. He didn't seem to notice. "But that must have been one chance in a million, meeting another immortal who just happened to inspire such strong feelings in you."

"It wasn't quite the coincidence you make it sound," he said with a smile. "She was the one who turned me."

"You were changed by a woman?" Esme was the only immortal female I'd ever known, and she was such a gentle creature. It was difficult for me to picture a woman overpowering a man, but now I'd run across two examples in my own limited acquaintance.

"Her name was Wilmke, only a few years younger than me, but very beautiful. She had been watching me for a long time and for some reason developed an infatuation for me. It didn't fade even through those first years when I was an unmanageable newborn. And when I came to myself again, I realized she was everything I'd ever dreamed of in a lover, a friend, an ally. We were married shortly thereafter – yes, immortals sometimes marry.

"It may seem odd to adhere to such a very human custom, while breaking countless other taboos in their society, but we longed to be bound in every way possible. We were together for 219 years, never tiring of each other's company, each other's love. All of us have very strong emotions, you see. We're capable of forming bonds that only poets dream of. We'd be together still, if she hadn't . . . died."

_Died_? Immortals didn't just die; she must have been killed, but I didn't want to ask. For the first time, he seemed like an old man – the defeat in his posture, the sadness in his eyes. "How did you survive that?" I asked quietly. "I know you couldn't help but survive it, but how did you bear that kind of pain?"

"I had to," he said with a sigh. "The ones who had killed her were still out there. Other vampires, of course. It took me almost 10 years to track them down and give them the fate they deserved.

"After that, I didn't know what to do with myself. So I began to explore religion." He looked at me with a challenge in his expression, as if daring me to laugh. I didn't, though his statement frankly shocked me. "I found something in many of them that gave me hope. Who knows if it's true, but existing without hope was too awful to contemplate. I hold to the possibility, however slim, that when the world ends, or I do, I'll find Wilmke again."

"You're saying you believe we have souls?"

"It's what I choose to believe, yes."

"But if that were true. Wouldn't . . ." I shut my mouth. Who was I to ruin the fragile peace this man had concocted to help him through a dismal existence like ours?

"No, please, say what you were going to say. It won't change what I need to believe, I assure you. You'll notice when you've been around a while longer that's true of nearly everyone – human or immortal. We need to believe certain concepts and so we do."

"It's just that if you believe in souls and the Heaven and Hell that go with them, then if you have one, wouldn't you be condemned to Hell in any case?"

"Oh, is that all?" He smiled another one of his frank, open smiles. "You're assuming I'd find that objectionable. Well, I wouldn't – not if it brought me back to Wilmke."

"Oh." I didn't know what to say to that. The idea of loving someone that much, of feeling their love in return was beyond my comprehension. I couldn't even imagine a scenario in which I could be friends with a woman. Or with anyone, come to that. The solitariness of my existence was as destined as my thirst for blood. Nothing was likely to change either.

"What I meant to point out," Frederick Anders continued, "was that someday you might find yourself attracted to a young lady, and it will be in your power to give her immortality."

"No." I shook my head emphatically. Discussing ideas, as we'd been doing here was interesting, but on that point I would never budge. "I try never to kill the innocent."

"I didn't say 'kill'."

"I know. What you suggest is worse. I wouldn't do that to my greatest enemy, and to endanger the soul of someone I actually cared for . . ." I shook my head at a loss for words.

"But you'd be creating a companion for yourself, and I'm assuming she'd have similar feelings toward you."

"If she did, they'd only change to hate."

"I didn't hate Wilmke," he pointed out.

"And I didn't fall in love with the man who changed me," I responded. "You were very fortunate, that was all."

He laughed. "Perhaps you're right. But did you resent him – the man responsible for your condition?"

"He did it because it was my only option. I was dying, so no, I can't fault him for doing what he thought was right. I just wish I had been older, and had time to experience more of life. You were fortunate in that sense."

He considered a moment. "I can't say I agree with that, not completely. Who wouldn't want to be preserved in the bloom of youth? To be young and handsome forever."

"I can't see what advantage that might be," I said truthfully. What difference did it make whether I looked deceptively harmless or like the ogre in a child's cautionary fable? It didn't change what I did or what I was.

"Beauty will always open doors," he insisted. "You'll find that out soon enough, but it's true a little well-earned cynicism can be an asset when you embark upon immortality. To have youthful idealism always at war with your predatory nature – that would be uncomfortable."

"I'm not idealistic," I said with a short laugh. In fact, I couldn't name one thing I typically did that wasn't totally self-serving. Was that the advantage of a fresh face – people attributed an innocence to you that just wasn't there?

"If you say so." He smiled at me with a bemused expression for a moment. "Is there anything else you'd care to ask an old hand at our trade before we part?"

"Yes," I answered gratefully. "I'm wondering if the stories about vampires with extra abilities are true or just part of the myth. Have you seen anything like that?"

"You know, I never have," he said a bit wistfully. "That's not to say none of the immortals I've met had them, just that they never manifested themselves in a way I recognized. But if you're asking do I believe there are such things, I'd have to say yes."

"Really, why?"

"The Volturi," he answered, lowering his voice again. "Legend has it that Aro can read a man's every thought, and who knows what talents he gathers around him? It's the only explanation for their long domination of our species. Their only serious threat has been from the Romanians long ago. Ordinary vampires could never have governed for so long, and I'm convinced they do govern."

"Even though you've never seen them?"

"Think about it, my boy. What are we, after all, but former humans, and humans come in a wide range of intellects. It would be foolish to assume that all immortals share our common sense when it comes to keeping our existence a secret. Over the centuries there must have been countless vampires who ignored the rules or perhaps never even knew about them. Yet in all that time, we've never been exposed. How could that be unless someone, somewhere was watching and stepping in to eliminate the reckless? My advice to you would be to conduct your business as if you knew the Volturi were a fact of life."

I nodded. He was, of course, perfectly correct in his theory.

He rose then, brushing the snow from his clothes. "I'm afraid I have to get on to the shop. Must get everything in order for the new owners. I've enjoyed meeting you, Edward. I have a feeling you'll have no trouble making your way in the world."

I stood too, and shook his hand again. "Thank you for talking to me, Mr. Anders. Good luck in Germany."

"And who knows?" he added. "Someday we may run across each other again. I'll be the one in the marvelous new machine that goes 100 miles an hour."

"Then I hope to have one that does 110," I said smiling.

He laughed and set off across the frosted lawn. I sat down again and remained there for a long time, thinking over our conversation.

After a while a few children ran and slid their way into the park, where they began throwing stones at the frozen fountain, breaking the slender pendants of ice into jagged teeth.

_Note: This was the one vampire I met whose annihilation I can't confirm. Under other circumstances, I'm sure he could be a formidable opponent, but there was no animosity in our exchange, no reason for him to resent me. _

_That brings me to the last of my immortal encounters. You might think I've left it so, merely because it's the one I'm least comfortable revisiting, but in fact it did come after the four I've described. _

_It was different from the others – not over so quickly, more complicated, a fact I attribute to my own weakness. The failure to act on that first impression makes me at least partially responsible for what happened. I'd rather not think about it at all, but I have promised a full accounting of my confrontations with other vampires._

_As I say, this one was different. This one was a woman, and she was beautiful._


	20. Martel

Chapter 20

Martel

I was leaning on the low fence in Battery Park, watching the reflected lights bounce and stretch on the waves in the harbor. A full moon had taken a position almost directly above the Statue of Liberty. It was very late.

Behind me, there were still people on the winding paths – murmuring couples, and a few rowdy drunks, not much of interest, until I heard the single word "vampire."

I turned then, casually, more intrigued than alarmed and scanned the shadows. Within seconds, a ghostly figure emerged from the blackness, long and white as the moon. Her hair gleamed in a colorless cloud that brushed her shoulders. She wore a shimmering pearl-toned dress beneath a white fox coat. Even her stockings appeared silvery in the dim light.

As she drew closer, I noted the sparkling jewels – around her neck, in her ears, on her wrist and fingers. This was not a cautious person. In fact, her recklessness was so blatant that I wondered if I wasn't seeing her entire modus operandi in one quick glimpse.

She was her own bait.

An incredibly attractive woman, flashing enough wealth to tempt even the morally ambivalent. They would come eagerly to her, seeing themselves as the predators, only to become her easy victims. There was something vaguely repellent about the whole concept.

Too easy? Did I actually feel she'd violated some surely non-existent code of fair play?

There was no time to consider that now, as with the same audacious attitude she stopped just inches in front of me. Her high heels brought us eye to eye.

"You are extraordinarily beautiful," she said in a slow, husky voice.

"As are you."

Her scarlet lips tugged into a wide smile. "It must mean something, don't you think? That we've come together in this secluded moonlit spot?"

"Hardly secluded." I nodded toward the vagrant shuffling toward a nearby bench, all the while muttering to himself.

"I'm called Martel," she said, extending one milky white hand.

I took it, wondering how long it had been since I'd dared to shake hands with anyone. In her head, she was hoping that I would raise it to my lips. It might have seemed appropriate, considering I was still wearing the tuxedo I'd rented for the opera, and she was dressed for a gala, but I didn't do it. I simply pressed her fingers briefly.

"Masen," I responded for no particular reason than that she hadn't said whether she was giving me her first or last name.

"Enchanted, Masen," she said with a smile as white as the rest of her. "What is your story? How long have you been immortal?"

"Not long, and my story is of very little interest."

"I see you don't trust me," she said with a little moue. "Very well, why don't you tell me mine then?"

For a fraction of a second, I froze. Did she somehow sense that I could read her mind? But no, her thoughts were singularly fixed on flirting with me, her attraction uncomfortably palpable.

"Scandinavian," I guessed. "Norwegian most likely."

"You disappoint me," she said dismissively, "stating the obvious, although it's true that most people guess Swedish. So predictable. What else can you tell me?"

"From your accent, I'd say that you've spent most of your time in America, but there's a bit of French there as well."

"Very good!" She rewarded me with her brilliant smile. "And since I am far less suspicious than you, I will tell you the rest, only not tonight. I'm afraid I have an appointment that just won't wait."

I was surprised and frankly disappointed. The only female vampire I'd ever met was Esme, and she was so new. Here was one with a history that might answer some of my questions, and she was openly drawn to me. The other reason for my disappointment, vying mightily to get through my defenses, was better ignored until I could think more clearly.

"I have to feed," Martel said apologetically. "See?" She brought her face even closer to mine, her cool exotic breath wafting through my head. Her eyes were black as pitch. "There is a precise time when I can acquire the nourishment I need, and the place is unfortunately uptown." She cast a disgusted glance at the vagrant on the bench. "Not here.

"But we must meet soon, Masen, and find somewhere to get better acquainted. Tomorrow night, I think – please, promise me."

"I can't promise that," I said. "This life is too chaotic. Things happen that we can't foresee." It wasn't entirely a lie, though I suspected the unforeseen would consist primarily of debates with myself.

"Midnight," she insisted. "At Times Square. Don't they say you will eventually meet everyone in the world if you wait there? And if you don't come tomorrow night, I'll be there the next night and the next, until I see you again."

"Times Square's a big place," I pointed out, though I suspected her voice would make its way easily into my head, even in a crowd.

"The Hotel Aster," she said, smiling, and turned away, disappearing into the shadows. I stayed listening to the sound of her heels clicking on the cobbles for a long time.

I won the debate – both sides – many times over in the next 24 hours. My body, forever frozen in a torment of repressed hormones, was all for accepting her implied invitation, whatever the consequences. Even my rational side weighed in on that one.

Here was that rare occurrence – a meeting between equals with a mutual attraction. I could touch her without fear of doing physical damage . . . possibly even kiss her. I had to struggle not to see that as the be-all and end-all of the question.

There would be consequences, and I had very little information to tell me what those might be. My limited experience had not been encouraging as far as getting along with other creatures of my kind. We were a fierce, anti-social, territorial species.

The one thing I did know about this one, I didn't like, and it would be the height of foolishness to let a physical attraction draw me into a relationship with someone I'd normally avoid. Still, my notion that she flaunted her expensive jewelry as some kind of lure could be a misconception.

You couldn't navigate a large city and spend a great deal of your time sorting through the thoughts of thugs and perverts without acquiring a certain cynicism. I mustn't let it rule my thinking. What if her attitude toward humans was not that different from my own? What if she was right and we were destined to meet?

I paced my hotel room, analyzing and conjecturing, succeeding in doing nothing but making a wild tangle of my hair. I simply didn't have enough information to know whether spending time with her was a good idea, and that seemed to call for a compromise.

There'd be no harm in meeting her again in a public place. Once I knew more about her, I could make an informed decision about whether to go any further.

Accordingly, I appeared at midnight under the marquis of the Hotel Aster. There were people going in and out as if it were noon, but I spotted Martel immediately. She was not so flamboyantly turned out this time, though her tailored dress was bright red. Her hair wasn't colorless, but a pale silvery, gold.

"I knew you'd come!" she cried when she saw me, and before I caught her intention, she'd rushed to my side, planting a lipsticked kiss on my cheek. "You look just as handsome without the tuxedo."

I had worn a suit, pondering the wisdom of a visit to the Aster's Palm Garden. My own eye color had reached that happy medium, where the red was no longer so obvious. If I didn't look someone directly in the eyes they weren't likely to notice anything peculiar about them, but I could see at once that wasn't going to work with my companion. Her irises were the color of her lips, her dress, and only the long fake lashes shadowing them made it unnoticeable to casual passersby.

"Where shall we go," she asked, hooking her arm through mine. "Or would you prefer to stay right here?"

"A little too well lit," I said, steering her away and trying to ignore the fact that she was referring neither to the lobby nor the Palm Garden. "There are plenty of dark cafes around here where we can talk."

"Talking is not half so interesting as other things we could do," she said, tilting her head coquettishly. "But it's true, you haven't told me a thing about yourself. Are you always so mysterious?"

We threaded our way through the clots of people congregating all around the square. "Not all mysteries hide something exciting. Sometimes the truth is very dull."

"I can't believe anything about you would be dull. You could be the most exciting man I've ever met."

"That's just the mystery," I assured her with a wry smile. Really, shouldn't women be more cautious than this? Taking up with strange men when, as I knew better than anyone, there were so many who saw females as something to be exploited. Maybe vampire women felt they could deal with that.

The Black Cat Café fit the bill for my purposes. It was dark with few pretensions to fashion. The people already inside appeared to come from different walks of life. It was anonymous. It was also a speakeasy, as were most of the establishments in this area, but that wasn't a factor we'd need to deal with.

The tired looking hostess barely glanced at us before leading the way to a booth halfway down the long room.

"No, not here," Martel said, surprising me. "How about that one over there?"

The woman shrugged and showed us to our table, which looked no different than the one we'd declined.

"The plant, don't you see?" Martel whispered, noting my confusion. "It's a perfect place to dump our drinks, so we can order more."

"Very clever," I acknowledged.

"Oh, I'm a clever girl. I know a good thing when I see one." Her flirting was interrupted by the waiter, but as soon as I'd ordered our coffee, she was back at it, reaching across the table to take my hand, caressing it with her fingers. "I am going to enjoy giving you pleasure, Masen. I can already feel it. Very, very great pleasure."

I shot a quick glance at my face in the smudged mirror beside us. Impassive, cool. Thank God, for that and for the table between us. It occurred to me that I'd grown accustomed to controlling every situation, whether with humans or vampires. This woman was doing her best to wrest that control away, and she was using weapons I wasn't used to deflecting.

I reclaimed my grip on the conversation. "You were telling me you'd lived in Norway and France. When did you come to this country?"

She sighed heavily and released my hand. "Nothing doing. You have to tell me something about you. Where are you from?"

"The Midwest."

"Oh, the provinces," she said with an exaggerated shiver. "How dreary."

"So you prefer the cities. Does that mean you left Europe intending to settle in New York?" I asked, determined to keep the information flowing one direction.

"If only we had. My family immigrated in 1847. We were meant to join relations who had settled in Minnesota, but we hadn't been there long before my father had a falling out with his cousins and decided we should continue west. It was in Nebraska that our party was attacked by bandits. They killed everyone except me. One of them was like us. He changed me – I had just turned 21."

I frowned imagining the horror she must have felt at seeing her family slaughtered, finding herself alone in a vast alien world. "You must have been terrified."

"Well, I was newborn and thirsty, and to tell you the truth I'd never really wanted to come to such a desolate place – to do what? Marry a farmer? Work myself to death just trying to get by? And besides, my creator promised to take me to San Francisco. That was exciting."

"How did you feed – out in the middle of nowhere?"

She shrugged. "Oh, there were settlers along the way, usually very isolated from any kind of help. We could make ourselves at home with no chance of visitors stopping by."

I couldn't help imagining those pioneers, leaving their homes and families half a world away, braving hardship and danger only to be ravaged by some passing monster.

Sometimes I wish I didn't think so much.

"And when there weren't any homesteaders," she continued, "we simply built a bonfire out in the open and waited for the red savages to send out a scouting party. That was how I first realized how easy it was to lure humans."

I maintained a neutral expression as she spoke, but inwardly I was uncomfortable with her casual description of indiscriminate murder. I shouldn't be. She'd been a newborn with no responsible guide. If Carlisle wasn't the way he was, I might have done the same thing.

"Not long after we arrived in California, the Gold Rush began. You cannot imagine the number of naïve, ignorant fools who lucked into a fortune, and they all returned to San Francisco to spend it. Such easy targets, such rich rewards. I was doing very well for myself, but it was obvious I could do even better without Carlos in the way, so I disposed of him."

"Your partner . . . you killed him?"

"My partner, my mate, my creator, yes, yes. Why does that shock you, Masen? He murdered my entire family, after all."

It was a valid point, but something in me was having a hard time reserving judgment.

Martel seemed to notice. A small frown pulled her perfectly shaped brows together. "I'm not saying it was an easy decision. It was a choice between sex and money, but I'm not stupid, Masen. Money lasts longer. There were so many wealthy men. I planned to go through them all."

She laughed suddenly. "My biggest problem was what to do with all the lovely cash and jewels, I acquired. I'd put money in banks all over town and finally resorted to sending some of it back east."

"What did you plan to do with it all?"

She shrugged. "Nothing really. I just like it to be mine rather than theirs. Maybe someday I'll build myself a palace on a high hill and settle down. Above Monaco, maybe. Or in the Alps. Someplace where rich people go. San Francisco may be bearable again by now, but I doubt it will ever provide such flocks of men with far more money than sense."

"And yet you left there. Here give me your cup." I took both our coffees and dumped them in the potted palm behind me.

"Goodness, you're fast." She laughed again. "I barely saw that myself."

I called the waiter over and requested a refill. "What made you decide to leave?"

"The earthquake."

"You mean, _the_ earthquake – 1906?"

"The very one."

"You experienced that?" I'd always been interested in history, but to talk with someone who was actually there when it was happening . . .

"In spades," she said sourly. "I was trapped for over a week under a ton of rubble. It was so maddening, so humiliating not to have the strength to get myself out, but I couldn't move. I'd begun to think I was going to starve to death, and then I heard voices, workers digging through the wreckage.

"They were long past hoping to find anyone alive – just cleaning up the mess. It was hours before suddenly I could see a bit of daylight, and one man broke through. He looked like an angel to me, a very filthy, sweaty angel. He couldn't believe it when I spoke to him.

"He began praising Jesus, nearly in tears, and then he said he was going back for more men, but I begged him not to leave me. With the opening he'd already made and his pick axe, he was able to lever the enormous steel beam from my legs just a smidgen, just enough for me to do the rest. I tell you, Masen, no human has ever tasted so good to me before or since."

I regarded her beautiful face for a moment. "That was the extent of your gratitude? You killed him?"

"He was just a human," she said with a note of impatience. "They're all going to die anyway, so what difference does it make? Their lives are no more than a second or two in the larger scheme of things."

I reminded myself that I still had questions I'd like to have answered. Taking both cups again, I tossed half the contents and motioned the waiter for a warm up.

"So you left because of the earthquake?"

"Not directly, no. There's such chaos after a natural disaster. Easy pickings everywhere you go and everything so disorganized no one's the wiser. You know, they had to turn off all the gas around the city because of the fires, so nobody could cook in their homes. People set up little makeshift stands everywhere to make soup or such, and they sold it right on the streets.

"I'll never forget, there was one sign that said, "Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we may be in Oakland." She chuckled at the memory.

"The provinces again." I nodded.

"Yes, a fate worse than death." She pretended to sip her coffee. "The real reason I left was that so many of the fat cats lost their fortunes, and the ones that didn't weren't in the mood to live it up. So I came here." She paused, fixing me with a shrewd expression. "You're an awfully good listener, Masen, or is it just that you don't want to tell me anything about yourself?"

I ignored both the compliment and the question. "You must have crossed paths with other immortals in your time. I'm curious about the rumors that some vampires have extra abilities. Did you ever see anything like that?" It was the one query I was determined to get in, since I'd begun to feel I was really an anomaly. Was it just me and the Volturi . . . and the guy who made camels misbehave?

"I try to stay away from our kind. It usually means trouble," she said, "but Carlos claimed to have met someone like that. She could look at a pregnant woman and know if she was having a boy or a girl. More than that – she could tell they were in a family way before they even knew it themselves. A gift for sensing life, she called it. I told him it was probably just luck."

"Interesting," I said, "but not of much practical use."

"Oh, no. Carlos told me, she actually ended up quite well off because of her skill." Martel beamed, as if this should be the happy ending of every story. "She lived apart from the town because of what she was, but she had a human brother to whom she remained close, and one day she went with him to market. She told him he should charge twice as much for the cow he wanted to sell, because it was carrying a healthy calf."

"The cattlemen there examined the animal and said they saw no signs of it whatsoever, but her brother insisted, saying that if someone would pay half again as much, he would give them twice that if no baby came. The others just laughed, but that man knew his sister. He had them fetch the padre to write a paper, which he signed in front of dozens of witnesses.

"When they saw he wouldn't dare to cheat them, a bidding war broke out. The cow brought a very high price, and of course the calf appeared on schedule. Only the owner was probably disappointed – he stood to win a tidy sum if the brother had been wrong.

"After that the townspeople put aside their fears and consulted the vampire about breeding their own animals and about whether they had caught a child they didn't want when there was still time for the dark herbs to do their magic . . . Yes, he told me she made quite a good living, but no, I've never met anyone like that myself. I always figured those stories for old wives' tales like the legend of the ancient ones in Italy."

"The Volturi."

"Yes, them. Can you really imagine a bunch of old rich men sitting up on a hill somewhere for centuries, doing nothing?"

"Like you in your palace?"

She stirred her coffee for a moment. "You think I'm selfish."

Shrewd, clever, but not really very intelligent, I thought. I knew selfish. It could be my middle name, but that wasn't the word I'd use to describe Martel's narrow view of the world.

"I just don't see the point of all this acquisition for its own sake."

"Spoken like a man who's never known the joy of being rich."

Wrong again. I had more than enough to do whatever I wanted, for which I was grateful, but money was the means to that end, not a goal in and of itself. As eager as I was to meet other immortals, to learn from them, I suspected I'd reached my limit with this one.

"I can be generous, I assure you, Masen. I would be happy to show you what it's like to live the high life."

"I don't want your money."

"You would, if you knew how much I have," she said confidently. "Everyone has his price, you know."

"That's a cliché, Martel, not a fact." My impatience was starting to get the best of me. She'd met no immortals with bizarre talents. I wasn't even sure she would notice if she did. The fact was she was simply too shallow to hold my interest. How long should I make myself sit here, doing penance for the stupid decision to meet her again? She took my silence as an opportunity to continue her story.

"When I left California, I went back to France for a few years. I'd always liked it there, but it wasn't the same. Did you know Paris flooded in 1910? Everyone had to travel around the city in boats."

"Earthquakes, floods. Are you sure your presence didn't provoke a fire somewhere?"

"You're joking, but wouldn't that be a perfect gift to have – to summon enormous disasters? It's so easy to take what you want when humans are frightened and confused. Anyway, I sailed back from England in 1912. It was not a pleasant journey."

I stopped fiddling with my spoon and stared at her. "I don't suppose the problem was mal de mer."

"No," she sighed. "The silly thing sank."

Anyone with half a grain of sense would think she was lying, making up stories to impress a stranger, but her thoughts were perhaps the most uncomplicated I'd ever encountered. There were no inner debates, no doubts, no regrets. And she wasn't lying.

"Another, rather notable disaster," I observed.

"Well, if I had truly been the cause, I would have done it much differently, I can tell you that. As it happened, there was time for the passengers to swarm the purser's office and take most of their jewelry with them – to the bottom of the sea."

"But a lucky few were rescued."

"Hundreds," Martel said with a sly smile. "Strangely, some of the lifeboats had fewer passengers than expected when they were pulled to safety. It was all put down to shock and confusion, but I did salvage a few very nice things.

"So you see, even if the stories about the funny, little old men in Italy were true, it wouldn't matter. They're supposed to punish naughty vampires who call too much attention to themselves, n'est-ce pas? But my best work is always done under cover of chaos. Still, to me, these are like the stories of the boogeyman that humans tell to their kids to make them behave. If they never leave their castle or lair or whatever it is, how do they punish anybody? Fairy tales."

I raised an eyebrow. "Still, a lot of immortals believe they exist." Like Carlisle who'd actually lived with them.

"A lot of foolish people believe we'll someday build a rocket to the moon," she said scornfully. "But enough of the boring talk. I want to be alone with you, Masen. Where should we go?"

"I think . . ." I took a deep breath. "Actually, I think we should go our separate ways, Martel."

"What? Why?" Her expression was a reflection of her thoughts – shock and sheer bewilderment. "But we're just getting to know each other!"

"We approach this existence too differently," I tried to explain. "It would be better for both of us if we gave each other a wide berth."

"What's different? We're vampires. We feed on humans."

"There's more to it than that. We may have been forced into this life, but we still have choices. You pick your victims for material gain. I try only to prey on people who make the world a sadder, more dangerous place."

"But that doesn't make any sense," she persisted.

"No," I said with a wry smile, "it probably doesn't, but it's the way that works for me."

"Masen, you sound like you think we should have a conscience. Are you going to tell me next you believe we have souls?"

"No, there's no danger of that."

"But don't you see, it's perfect! We won't ever encroach on each other's territory. We aren't after the same prey."

I shook my head, unable to explain. "We're not after the same anything," I said inadequately.

"That's not true. I've wanted you from the first moment I saw you. You can't tell me you're not attracted to me in the same way."

"Of course, you're an incredibly desirable woman. It just . . . it just isn't enough."

She looked at me as if I was stark, raving mad, and there was a huge part of me that agreed with her. I felt as much disgust for myself as for her. Just what did I think I was playing at? I really had no idea any more.

"But why did you meet me? Why did you come here and talk, if you didn't plan to make love with me?"

"Martel," I said unable to keep the exasperation out of my voice, "can't two people have a conversation for any reason other than sex?" I knew her answer before she said it, even before she thought it.

"Well, there's money, of course. I'm not sure what other kind of reason you mean?"

She looked so sincerely puzzled that I attempted to soften my rejection. "It's not your fault," I said, standing up and reaching into my pocket. "I appreciate your telling me your stories, and I wish you well."

I put a wad of money on the table, bid her goodnight and left so quickly that I doubt the other patrons even saw me pass. I still caught the disappointment in her mind and the speed with which she snatched up the larger bills before I'd even made it to the street.

For nearly a week, I'd been staying in a small, respectable hotel in order to make myself presentable for the events I wanted to attend – the opera, a charity auction. I returned there now, taking the stairs three at a time, catching the door just before I slammed it into toothpicks.

The incident had left me in a black mood, irritated with myself, with my inability to find another immortal I could relate to, with the world in general. I went back to pacing the small room, this time with no hope at all of something good on my horizon.

My father had said it was important to take lessons from every experience – good or bad. Which father? Edward Masen Sr. or Carlisle? I couldn't even remember anymore, although it was probably good advice either way.

Well, I'd learned that some people are prone to calamities. I didn't for a minute believe that Martel had an immortal gift for causing disasters, but she did seem to attract more than her share of bad luck. I believed that was possible, because when I was really honest with myself, I had to admit I'd had more than my share of the good kind.

Oh, there was the annoying detail of dying at 17, hard to see that as anything but a lousy break. Still I'd been lucky enough to be born to loving parents, the kind of people I admired and might have sought out as friends if we weren't related. And I'd been rescued from the true death, by yet another strong, caring person.

I had certain natural attributes that helped me get along in the world, and a couple of very unnatural ones that ensured I got my own way more often than not. I was doing pretty much only what I wanted to do, so why the dissatisfaction?

Perhaps because the other thing I'd learned – all over again – was that I was destined to remain alone. The odds against anyone, anywhere co-existing with me for any length of time were astronomical.

What was less clear was what this indicated about me. Did I really have any right to the distaste I'd felt when Martel described her hunting methods? The meals we selected were different, but they came from the same dark menu.

My idiosyncrasies, as far as victims were concerned, set me apart from others of my kind. I'd thought of it as a moral judgment, but was that only an affectation? Was it really just a rationalization to ease my conscience, to help me pretend I wasn't a monster?

While murderers and rapists clung to the bottom rung of humanity, I didn't feel hypocrites were far above them. Was I secretly one of them?

I hated the questions and couldn't come up with the answers. And then one of those random memories floated to the surface, a vague human one I'd completely forgotten. I must have been 14 or 15, sitting in the back of the classroom, my preferred location since it allowed for some pleasant daydreaming when the lesson got boring.

There were two other pupils in the row, and we were taking a test – on what I couldn't remember. The smaller one, a shy boy who blushed when anyone spoke to him, left his desk to whisper something to the teacher. While he was gone, the other one – Pierpont, was his name – reached over and grabbed the paper from his desk, giving it a quick once over before putting it back.

None of my business.

The teacher – Mr. Cutter had only been there a short time.

The memories just kept getting clearer. I forced everything else out of my head to concentrate on this glimpse into the past, something I could never conjure up at will. I set on the floor, my back against the door and focused.

At the end of class, the teacher who'd been looking over the tests, thundered, "Mr. Pierpont and Mr. Sims, can you tell me why your answers to questions four and nine are identical, particularly when the second one is ludicrously incorrect? I'll see you both outside immediately."

We all knew what that meant – a march to the headmaster's office and then the dreaded message to their fathers who paid handsomely for their sons to attend the school. It was sometime later that the classroom door opened and Pierpont swaggered in alone with a smug smile and took his place again. I stared at him, but he refused to meet my eyes.

All the rest of that day and into the night I felt agitated. I didn't give a tinker's damn about who was cheating, but the fact that Pierpont let Sims take the fall ate at me. Boys not much older than us were fighting to defend our country, and that coward wouldn't even stand up and take what was coming to him.

The next morning I was waiting for him near the gate. I grabbed his collar pulling his face close to mine and said, "I know what you did," through gritted teeth.

"So what?" he squeaked, surprised to find someone he'd probably pegged as even tempered threatening him. "Are you going to rat me out?"

"No. That's your job. Go tell them Sims doesn't deserve to be expelled."

"He could of told them that himself, but he just sat there like a dumbbell."

"That's because he's afraid of you, Pisspot," I growled, using the nickname he'd hated since he was in short pants. "I'm not."

I let him throw the first punch – not out of any kind of sportsmanship, but other students had noticed us, and if my father heard I'd suddenly taken up bullying, he might just kill me. It wasn't pretty, but it was in deadly earnest as we pummeled each other until we were rolling around on the lawn, which is where we were finally collared and dragged off to the headmaster's office.

"This is inexcusable," he began, "a disgrace to our school's good name and your families' trust that we are turning you into gentlemen here."

"He hit me first," Pierpont whined.

"There are at least a dozen witnesses who tell me otherwise, Mr. Pierpont. Please don't make this any worse."

"Well, he grabbed me. I nearly choked to death."

"Is that true, Mr. Masen?"

"The grabbing part, yes sir, but he offended me first."

"And what was the nature of this offense?"

"Uh . . . an injustice, sir."

"Of what kind?"

"That's up to him to explain."

"If you think I'm gonna tell him what I did, you're crazy, Masen."

The headmaster turned his full attention on Pierpont. "This is the second time you've been in my office in as many days. I understand that it was Sims who left his desk briefly, which leaves you as the one with the opportunity to cheat. Mr. Cutter is new to our school. If he'd been aware of your record, I doubt the incident would have gotten this far."

"And as for you, Mr. Masen, I'm truly shocked and disappointed to see you here. Your record has been exemplary up till now, but your father has been notified, I suggest you go home now and spend the day rethinking your deportment."

That was the worst part. It was still early morning, and I wasn't sure if my father had left for work yet. I considered taking the long way home to give him time to vacate the premises, but that would only be putting off the inevitable. I caught a glimpse of myself in a shop window and drew closer to assess the damage.

There appeared to be a bruise on one cheek, my shirt was torn and bloody and my hair full of grass. Pisspot had a split lip and a black eye. I allowed myself a quick congratulatory grin, then sobered up for the confrontation.

My father was waiting in his study, and he was not happy. I listened to the horrors of having a son sent home from school for behaving like a hooligan, and he listened to my story.

"Why didn't you come to me last night, if the situation was troubling you?"

"I was afraid you'd get in touch with the headmaster."

"As I should have done," he said sternly.

I shook my head. "I didn't want that. It would still be like ratting. It was Pierpont's job to act like a man and accept responsibility. It wasn't yours."

"And it most certainly wasn't yours," he shouted. "Why did you feel you had to involve yourself at all?"

"I'm not sure," I said truthfully. "It was just . . . so wrong."

He looked at me in silence for a long moment, but he didn't seem angry any more. I wished I could tell what he was thinking. Finally, he said, "Son, there is an entire world out there where many, many things are wrong. You can't feel responsible for righting all of them."

"Yes, sir."

"And if I hear one more word of your fighting, there will be serious consequences. Understand me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Edward, for goodness sake, let me look at you!" That was my mother flying into the room with a wet towel. "How did this happen? Tell me where it hurts." She dabbed at my face, flicking grass out of my hair with her other hand.

"Mother, I'm fine. I'm not even hurt."

"How can you say that? Where do you think all this blood came from?"

"Pisspot–Pierpont . . . he had a bloody lip."

She jerked my head up none too gently. "You don't feel that? There's a cut here that's bled all over your shirt. I'll have to find the sticking plaster. Darling, come look at this," she said to my father. "I think it's going to leave a scar!"

"Edward, go clean yourself up," he ordered. "Then let your mother fuss over you and then you're going to write an eloquent, perfectly spelled, blot-free letter of apology."

"To Pierpont?" I said aghast.

"No, not to Pierpont," he said, very nearly smiling at my expression. "To Headmaster McKinley promising you won't disappoint him again."

As I left the room, my father had his arm around my mother, saying, "Now, Lizzie, calm yourself. I doubt a tiny scar under his chin will make the boy too hideous for matrimony. You'll have your grandchildren someday."

The memory fizzled out, and I went directly to the nightstand, pulling out my journal and writing it all down while it was still fresh, like someone waking in the night to record a dream.

I couldn't imagine why I'd remembered that now, unless my brain was pointing out to me that I couldn't blame my righteous anger on the monster. Apparently, I'd been prone to minding other people's business when I was still human.

With the journal back in the drawer, I felt the tension return and wondered if I looked as unlike myself as I felt. Stalking into the bathroom, I consulted the mirror over the sink. That was me, all right.

"You could have kissed her at least," I accused the image with disdain. "That may have been your only chance."

I ducked out again before it could point out to me that I wouldn't have been able to stop if I had, and Martel certainly wouldn't have stopped me. The last thing I needed was an entanglement with someone who could jeopardize the carefully controlled existence I was constructing.

This room was too small for myself and my warring thoughts. I changed into dark clothing, and went back down to the street, now nearly empty of traffic. I'd fed scarcely a week ago, but there was only one way I knew to dispel the relentless tension.

I needed to kill somebody.


	21. Stalker

Chapter 21

Stalker

The sweet release that comes with doing what my kind does best never lasts very long.

Over the next day or two, I still felt restless and out of sorts. Little things had begun to bother me more than usual, as if the fury always buried deep inside was probing for an excuse to emerge.

I felt the constant need to strike out at something, but this hotel room was hardly the place to do it. I determined to move right away, to a dump where I could take out my aggressions without disturbing the peace.

I gathered all my earthly belongings into my worn leather bag, checked out at the front desk, and stepped into the street to find myself face to face with Martel.

"Finally," she greeted me. "You know, that wasn't a very gentlemanly thing to do, making it so hard for me to find you again. Manhattan must be one of the worst places in the world for tracking anybody – so many, many different smells."

"What do you want?" I said curtly.

She looked surprised that I'd even ask. "Well, to continue our conversation for starters and then we'll take it from there."

"The conversation was over. I thought you understood that."

"It can't be. We've only just met, and you know we were supposed to. We're going to have such a glorious time together!"

"We're not going to have _any_ time together," I said through gritted teeth. She had to be the most obtuse woman I'd ever met.

"That's just crazy talk," she insisted, moving closer. "You are in my mind every minute of the night and day. I can't think of anything else. I love you, Masen."

"Love me? You don't even know me."

"I know enough," she said, placing her hands on my chest and gazing into my eyes. This would be so much easier to take if it was only a ploy, but I could see in her mind that she actually believed it.

"I think we should start with a world cruise. Only the very rich can afford such a voyage. That means plenty of lovely things for me. Surely you've noticed, Masen, that few people grow wealthy by being good. No doubt there will be very many bad ones to suit your fancy. You won't believe how easy it is to enjoy a good human at sea. A toss overboard and there's nothing to clean up, no suspicious circumstances."

A woman passed us, standing as we were in the middle of the sidewalk, and smiled an indulgent smile. She assumed we were lovers, I realized, nearly choking on the thought.

I stepped back. "Listen carefully, Martel. I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but I don't intend to get involved with anyone. Right now, it's all I can do to figure out my own limits – what I can and can't allow myself to do. Complications would make that impossible. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

She was gazing into my face with a rapt expression. Now she smiled and bit her lip in a gesture I found strangely unsettling. "Not a word," she said, "but it sounds so beautiful , so . . . sexy when you say it."

Out of habit, my hand flew to my hair, encountered a hat and wreaked havoc on the only part that showed. How did you get through to this woman?

"Oh, look, you've mussed your beautiful hair," she cooed, reaching out to touch it.

"Don't." I caught her wrist and flipped her arm back, none too gently. "I'm not going anywhere with you. Please, just stay away from me."

"It's the money, isn't it?" she said, giving a meaningful look to the clothes I was wearing: A coarse gray shirt with suspenders and serviceable trousers, dusty work boots, a limp fedora – the uniform of the working man, or those who were out of work, the best way to blend in these days. "You're ashamed because you aren't rich like me, but I swear to you it doesn't matter."

"You're insane," I snarled and took the obvious way out, vanishing at a speed that would have stunned anyone watching. Not the smartest idea, but my anger was such that I didn't trust myself to be around her one more minute.

I found refuge in a row of dilapidated tenements that attracted only the most desperate of the homeless, and none of them bothered to venture above the first floors. My ability to enter by a sixth-story window virtually ensured my privacy. I simply needed to be alone, to calm down again and put the incident with Martel behind me.

I was naïve to think it would be that easy.

A few days later, my attention was jolted by a familiar voice in my head, rising above all the others in its sheer obstinance. She was looking for me, and even though she was a good mile away, she was coming my direction.

It was easy enough to lose her, but a few nights later I'd settled onto a 52nd St rooftop intending to listen to the jazz pouring out of several clubs along its stretch. This was not the music I'd grown up with. It didn't follow the same rules, going off into uncharted territory like a musical counterpart to the strange new paintings that dominated the art scene.

Suddenly, there was Martel's voice – or her thoughts anyway – interrupting the flow, as she congratulated herself on picking up my scent. Damn the luck! I followed the mournful sound of a clarinet off into the anonymous night, leaving my pursuer and my plans for a diverting evening far behind.

A few days later I edged around the crowds at Union Square where a huge rally was being held protesting the lack of jobs. Such gatherings typically started out peacefully enough until agents of the various political factions infiltrated the mob with their own agendas, stirring up trouble wherever they could.

Where trouble divides, evil is almost certain to take advantage, so it was a good bet I could pick up a likely candidate for my next meal somewhere in the melee. Sure enough, the situation deteriorated quickly. Like wildfire, the decision spread among tens of thousands of people to descend on City Hall and confront Mayor Walker himself, demanding work or at least a plan to feed the city's starving.

The police moved in, striking out with their batons. Horses reared and trammeled protesters and onlookers alike. Giant firehoses blasted the panicked crowd. In the cacophony that resulted, it was impossible for me to distinguish a voice of murderous intent from the general hysteria, and yet, incredibly, there it was – one monologue, crystal clear, disgustingly familiar.

Martel had been shrewd enough to guess I might find this an attractive hunting ground for my peculiar tastes, and this was her favorite kind of event – disastrous and chaotic. Only the potential victims failed to meet her requirements, being among the most destitute in Manhattan.

The best I could hope for was that she'd be swept up in the mass arrests taking place all around the square and taken off my hands, however briefly. Given her penchant for decking herself out like a window at Tiffany, I doubted that was going to happen.

I understood the desire to rip your own hair out. This was beyond irritating. Of course, she could never catch me if I stayed on guard, but why should I have to? Why should I devote space in my head to listening for her when there were so many more interesting subjects to think about?

Constantly moving out of her range made me feel like a jackass. The one time I decided to stop and confront her was, of course, a mistake. I turned the tables on her, doubling back and materializing practically in her face on a dark street corner. She was well and truly startled, and I pressed the advantage, backing her into a shadowed doorway, my eyes burning into hers.

"Stop this now." I hissed. "Because I'm trying not to hurt you, but my patience is rapidly nearing an end."

Her expression went from fear to awe. "Oh, Masen, you're magnificent when you're angry. I knew you wouldn't hide from me forever. Let me go with you so we can stop all this silliness."

A loud crack, like a gunshot, split the night air as the granite behind her right ear shattered under my fist, and I was gone again.

Seething, I headed directly to the building next to where I was staying. It had been gutted by fire and slated for demolition. I'd spent a lot of my time here bashing, kicking and mutilating every inch of it in an effort to dispel my frustration and the rage that seemed to be growing harder and harder to contain. Tonight I throttled a door jamb so thoroughly that the lintel collapsed.

I was perfectly aware that what I really wanted to throttle was Martel. The question was why hadn't I done it? I'd been working on this one for days with nothing but the lamest of answers.

Any attraction I'd felt toward her was strictly physical, no more than could be expected of someone so thoroughly repressed in the presence of a beautiful woman. It had dissipated quickly when I realized her beauty was the only good thing about her.

I killed people all the time. My most guilt-free pleasure was the habitual murderers, and she was certainly that. In fact, I suspected she was responsible for more deaths than all my victims put together. My rule of thumb – was the world better off without them – might have been conceived with her in mind.

So what was stopping me?

Well, for one thing, she wasn't human, and humans were our natural prey, though the distinction hadn't fazed me with the other immortals I'd destroyed. Besides, those vampires had fully intended to kill me if I hadn't gotten them first.

Martel provoked me far more than the ones I'd fought. I'd never felt so relentlessly under attack in my existence, but she wouldn't recognize that characterization at all. She thought she was in love. I considered, for all of about two seconds, if I could be getting something out of this warped adoration of hers. Was I that desperate to hear someone say, "I love you"?

No, it was completely meaningless coming from a woman whose only value system was greed.

That left the flimsy but very real conviction that I'd brought this on myself. I'd led her on. She'd been attracted to me and I had used it to draw from her information about how other vampires conducted their lives. Killing her in response seemed not very different from Martel luring the greedy to their deaths with her gaudy jewels.

In any case, it began to seem like a moot point. A week passed and then another with no sign of her. I maintained vigilance in my mind, so she couldn't sneak up on me, but some of the tension left my body. My rage died down to a manageable simmer.

_Note: At this point, Carlisle, you may suppose that we've found our smoking gun – a vampire that I didn't kill, one who was obsessed with me and just crazy enough to pursue her delusion into the next century. But you'd be wrong. There's more to the story._

One evening when the moon was nearly full again, I returned to Battery Park. A fine mist was falling that discouraged casual strollers, and it was quiet enough to hear the waves lapping close by. I felt almost peaceful for several minutes until a lone voice entered my mind, a familiar voice, chanting "let him be here, let him be here" over and over again.

I squeezed my eyes shut, summoning the strength to get through one last ordeal with what I'd begun to think of as my nemesis. We'd both had a good long cooling off period, so hopefully it could be civil and a little bit sane. For my part, I was determined to remain calm and indifferent.

"Oh, Masen, I knew you'd be here tonight," she greeted me, as I turned toward her. She was wearing the white fox coat again tonight with an ice blue dress. The large carpet bag clutched in her hands didn't match the ensemble.

"Hello, Martel. Why is that?"

"To recapture the romance of our first meeting with the big moon and all."

Off the mark as usual. I'd always come here for the same reason. That it spoke so clearly of aloneness.

Behind me the city was a tangle of sound and color and interaction between people. Before me lay only the dark silent water, casting back whatever light tried to penetrate its secrets. The mournful sound of the foghorns. Even the lady with her guiding torch, forever isolated on her tiny island. None of it connecting. Melodramatic perhaps, but I felt like I belonged here.

Or I had.

"And the second reason is that I've brought you something. I had to work very hard to make the timing of this come out right, but it did. Fate again, don't you see?" She thrust the tapestry bag toward me.

I tried to find the answer to what was inside by searching her thoughts, but they were one-dimensional as ever, consisting entirely of excitement over how much I was going to like my surprise.

With some reluctance, I took the bag and set it on a bench. Curiosity has frequently been my downfall, but with a wild card like Martel, it seemed prudent to know what she was up to.

I opened it and found Benjamin Franklin staring up at me in rows of neatly bundled hundred-dollar bills, stacks of them. I frowned. "What is this?"

"It's for you," she said with a smug smile. "Two hundred thousand dollars. So now we are both rich. We can do whatever we want."

"I told you, I don't want your money," I growled. The fleeting sense of peace I'd had standing here alone was gone, and I could feel my temper rising again.

"But it isn't my money, at least it wasn't till about 45 minutes ago. It was always meant for you, Masen."

I shook my head. There was no reasoning with this woman. I could see only two options open to me, and I was still balking at the idea of cold-blooded, pre-meditated murder.

"No more," I said simply and shot off into the shadows, not slowing till a block beyond the park. My first act, after checking to see no one was watching, was to throw a fist into the closest iron lamppost. It buckled, dipping its light above Whitehall Street in an unlikely bow.

God, I hated this. Hated that I felt like a fool. Hated that someone else could complicate my life, when I usually did an adequate job of that myself. Hated her.

It had to end, and I had to quit analyzing the situation to death and simply do it. Next to me Hamlet looked like a paragon of decisiveness, but there I was again, over-dramatizing myself instead of committing.

Martel wasn't following me. There was no hint of her thoughts in my head, unless she was operating completely on automatic now, like one of Pavlov's dogs. What was she up to anyway?

I'd slowed to a human pace, encouraging my temper to do the same. Where had she gotten that kind of money in the middle of the night? I doubted that humans kept their cash so uniformly bundled, and as far as I knew, Martel didn't have the skills to rob a bank.

Something was niggling at the back of my mind, something alarming, but it was another block or two before I realized what it was. The story had been in the news all week, blaring from the headlines on every street corner.

_No_.

Martel knew enough to camouflage her crimes. Surely, she wasn't stupid enough to do something so rash, so public.

I stopped.

How could anyone know what a person with no sense of right or wrong was capable of doing? It was too risky to ignore the possibility when the exposure of immortals could be the consequence.

I whirled and headed back the way I'd come, circumventing the park until I picked up Martel's scent again. I had to get close enough to hear what she was thinking. It should have been easy at this hour – not that many people on the streets, but it wasn't.

Finally, I pinpointed the place where her scent vanished. Broadway. She had to have taken a taxi. Well, that complicated things nicely. Having no idea where she was headed, I could spend the whole night going in circles, trying to pick up her trail again.

But if what I suspected was correct, I had to do it. There was no one else to stop her. I closed my eyes, trying to bring into focus what I'd seen on newsstands this week.

A kidnapping on the upper eastside. The culprit dubbed "The Eagle," because the child had apparently been taken from a 10th story bedroom with no access to a fire escape.

Damn! That should have sounded an alarm. If I hadn't have been so busy avoiding Martel, it might have struck me at the time. I ducked into a side street, checking the stoops for newspapers, finally finding yesterday's at the entrance to a basement apartment.

The story was still front-page news, though with no leads, it had slipped to the bottom of the page. I skimmed it in seconds. Police speculated that several kidnappers were involved, as someone must have been lowered from above to snatch the four-year-old girl from her bedroom.

The parents, an oil magnate and his wife, had made tearful entreaties over the radio for their child's safe return. Hopes that she was still alive had been revived two days ago when a printed note appeared at the apartment (no one was sure how) in which the child begged for her parents to come get her. Authorities were skeptical about the genuineness of the note, as childish printing is impossible to identify, but the parents were holding to that hope.

I flung the paper back onto the step, and sped off, angling my way toward the east side. I had no idea where Martel might be, but I knew where the crime had taken place, and I headed there in the shadow of buildings, glad for the lateness of the hour.

The location was not hard to find. Several men, some with cameras, were camped on the sidewalk across the street. I slipped into an alley and looked up at the blank face of the building. Only a place that catered to wealthy residents could evade the laws about fire escapes. Too unsightly. Too lower class.

There were few obvious places to find purchase in the design of the wall. No human could scale it, but with an immortal's superior balance the most subtle indentations and protuberances would make it an easy climb.

A week had gone by since the kidnapping. The area was swarming with scents, but nothing that could help me. It was even possible Martel had made her escape over the rooftops. My only hope of finding her was if she'd stayed fairly close by. It's what I would have done in a similar situation. Minimize the distance and you minimize your exposure to human eyes.

I started spiraling out from the scene of the crime, hoping to pick up a scent, listening for that vapid voice in my head. I was six blocks out when I caught it – no scent, just the indistinct murmurings of her thoughts. From there it was easy to follow a straight line south to a street of well-kept apartment houses.

Odd that she'd pick a residential neighborhood, but then I noticed the building at the end of the block. The lower and upper floors appeared relatively normal, but the bricks around the fifth story were blackened. There'd been a fire on that middle floor, and it was enough to have the entire building vacated.

Shrewd, I thought again. Vagrants had no doubt taken advantage of the lower apartments, but the upper ones were probably more or less intact, and cut off from humans looking for a place to take shelter.

Her thoughts were still following the same tedious pattern; she was counting, and I thought I knew what. At the back of the building, her voice was clearer still. I made the easy climb up rough bricks to the eighth story and through a bedroom window in complete silence.

She didn't suspect I was there till she looked up and saw me standing in the living room doorway. Her flawless face broke into a triumphant smile. "I knew you wouldn't be able to resist my present, Masen, and I knew you wouldn't be able to stay away from me either."

"Please, spare me the things you 'know,' Martel," I said in an ominous tone. "What did you do with the child?"

"Nothing yet. I was going to get rid of her as soon as I finished counting the money, but just seeing you again has made me completely forget where I was. I'll have to begin again."

"What do you mean by 'get rid of her'? You can't just march up to her parents' home and hand her over."

"You really do think I'm stupid, Masen, don't you?" She dropped the money back in the bag and rose from the couch, folding her arms in a show of pique. "This was a very well-planned crime - perfect, if I do say so myself."

"You do realize that the money is undoubtedly marked in some way," I said, glaring at her. "You're not going to be able to do anything with it unless you're prepared to be arrested."

She shrugged, but I could see that hadn't occurred to her at all. "So I'll put it away for a hundred years or so, till everyone who knows about this adventure is long dead."

"They're going to keep looking for you regardless. These people have influence. Their story has captured the sympathy of the public. You have to get out of the country or risk being caught and exposing us all in the process. Now what have you done with the child?" I repeated.

"I told you, I'm not stupid. If I'd killed her at the beginning, I couldn't have sent that tear-jerking note with her little scribble. Did you hear her folks on the radio? They were so crazy with hope, I just knew they'd fight the police tooth and nail on the ransom, and I was right."

I could only stare at her.

She took my stunned silence as evidence that I was impressed with her brilliance. "If you know anything about kidnapping – and who doesn't these days? – you know the authorities always try to talk the family out of paying the ransom. Most of the time the victim's already dead anyway. I decided to keep her until the money was actually in my hands, in case it took another note to push them over the edge."

"So she's still alive?" I was sifting quickly through the voices in my head, but none of them came from nearby.

"Yes," she admitted with the first guilty expression I'd ever seen on her face. "But, I swear, I was going to kill her as soon as I finished counting the money. I'll take care of it right this minute, I promise, but then you have to stop being so cross with me." She stood and walked toward a short hallway on the left.

I grabbed her wrist as she started to pass. "Why?" I demanded.

"Why, what?" She looked surprised, but felt stupidly thrilled that I'd touched her.

"Why kill her? You have what you wanted."

"How many times do I have to tell you I'm not stupid? She's seen me. She could describe what I look like. Of course, she has to die."

I flung her away from me. She landed on the couch across the room. It collapsed from the impact, but I was already in the hallway. An open door to the bathroom on my right, a closed one with a key in the lock on my left.

When I stepped into the room, I thought the child was dead. Her heartbeat was so quiet, so slow that I almost didn't recognize it for what it was. She was stretched out on a narrow bed, wearing a nightdress, the one she'd had on when she was taken, I assumed.

The floor was strewn with picture books and candy wrappers. More candy was stacked on the nightstand along with a nearly empty jar of peanut butter and a pitcher of water. A single drinking glass had rolled partway under the bed.

"You see, I took good care of her," Martel said behind me. "I know what kids like. I even offered to read to her the storybooks, but she was always too sleepy."

"What did you give her?"

"Just some Tincture No. 23."

There was no time to indulge the contempt rising in me now. I wrapped the little girl in a blanket and straightened up, pushing my way past Martel into the hall.

"What do you think you're doing, Masen?"

"I'm taking her home. I'll deal with you later."

"No, you can't!" She threw herself at me, grabbing the lapels of my jacket and nearly jarring the child from my arms.

I repositioned the little girl over my shoulder, brought my free arm back and elbowed Martel in the jaw. The crash when she hit the wall, set the entire room vibrating, but she was up within seconds and coming at me again. This time I used my fist. Her flight took down a floor lamp, a china cabinet and caused the ceiling fixture to explode.

She was truly maddened now, her teeth bared, her fingers extended toward me like claws. But even hampered by my efforts to protect the sleeping child, I was still one step ahead of her, always knowing exactly where she intended to strike.

A kick did the trick this time, driving her into the marble mantle, which crumbled in response, and stunning her long enough for me to pick up the carpet bag in my free hand.

"We can do this all night, but the result will be the same. She's going back to her family. I can easily return the money as well."

"No! Not the money!" she gasped.

"Then stand over there until I've gone."

She was fuming, her eyes shooting daggers at me. "I'd like to rip you to pieces!" she rasped, but went to stand against what was left of the wall.

"Fine, but it will have to wait." I tossed the bag at her feet, dashed to the bedroom, and swung out the window where I'd entered. Finally, I'd had an excuse to unleash my anger on Martel and I couldn't even take time to enjoy it.

It worried me immensely that the little girl had slept through the onslaught. I wondered if she was in a coma but had no way of telling and no skills to offer her if she was. The descent was easy, the area deserted. Now I just had to find a safe place to hide her until I could summon help.

I moved through the shadows for a block or two. Nothing was open at this hour but a gin joint. I didn't dare approach anyone or take the time to find a hospital. I settled on a modest little church. It was grimy and in poor repair but a sign outside promised services every Sunday.

The door was locked, a detail easily corrected. Dim light shone from somewhere near the altar. The rest of the place was shrouded in darkness. I lay my burden down on the back pew, checking again for her heartbeat, and wrapped the blanket snugly around her. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

I made sure the door still appeared to be locked when I closed it - couldn't have derelicts wandering in tonight – and returned to the tavern on the theory that it would be one of the few establishments that could still afford a payphone.

I'd already decided against calling the police, not wanting to bring attention to this area, and ambulances were hard to come by with so many people suffering. But there was someone else whose self-interest would bring them as quickly as I needed.

I closed my eyes till my memory showed me a clear picture of the newspaper article I'd read earlier, and phoned the Times. "May I speak to Randall Mackie?"

I was counting on the reporter whose byline had accompanied the article to be keeping long hours in case there was a break in the story.

"Mackie, here." He answered on the first ring.

"Tildie Shocroft," I said, using my most persuasive tone. "You'll find her in the back pew of Calvary Methodist, 230 E 62 St. Get an ambulance there as well. She's been heavily drugged with laudanum, but appears to have no obvious injuries."

"You know how many crank calls we get about this?" Mackie said, but he was going through the motions; there was excitement in his voice. "Who are you, anyway?"

"The man who just put your byline back above the fold. Now move before I tip off a rival paper."

That should do it. I hung up the phone and retreated to a rooftop across the street, where I watched the subsequent show. The first car arrived in less than 10 minutes. Two men raced to the church door, the second one toting a camera. A minute later, a small ambulance from one of the private hospitals pulled up, siren silenced.

I waited until the stretcher was loaded and the vehicle sped away. Somewhere around Lexington Avenue, the siren sprang to life. I drew a deep breath of night air and made my way down to the street again, traveling a few blocks north till Martel's thoughts wormed their way into my head. She was counting again.

I'd had enough of her tonight. My mind was on the little girl and the story that could still turn out to be a tragedy. I walked the forty blocks back to my chosen hideaway and spent the rest of the night trying to concentrate on a history of the Plantagenets that someone had left at a trolley stop.

When morning came, I bought a paper, but the Shocroft story was merely a rehash of past articles. Several times during the day, I stationed myself within hearing of a radio, but everyone seemed to be listening to the Yankees game. Around three I moved restlessly back up to Times Square, the heart of the action, if there was to be any.

When the cries of "Extra!" popped up from several locations simultaneously, I moved quickly to buy a paper and skimmed it swiftly then and there. The relief I felt was more than I deserved, considering how little I'd done to give the story its happy ending. I still felt obscurely responsible for the whole mess, as if even listening to Martel's stories had validated her actions in some way.

Tildie was conscious. Doctors intended to keep her in the hospital for another day or two, until the drugs had left her system, but they pronounced her in basic good health. With that question answered, I went back to the beginning of the article and for the first time in a long while found myself smiling with real humor.

According to the article, just below the three-inch headline, ace reporter Randall Mackie had rescued the girl after a tip from an anonymous source. I liked that choice of word – "source" rather than "informant." It seemed to imply that Mr. Mackie maintained a covert relationship with someone in the know, the kind of person newsmen protected on principle, refusing to reveal their identity.

In fact, this particular tipster was just as big a mystery to Mackie as everyone else.

And my smile turned into a chuckle when I read Tildie's description of her kidnapper. "She was an angel with golden hair. First, we flew out my window. Then we flew in another window, and she let me eat all the candy I wanted."

I reminded myself again to take anything printed in a newspaper with a grain of salt.

The sun was threatening to make an unwelcome appearance, so I spent the rest of the day indoors. I no longer had the luxury of a choice between eliminating Martel and turning my back on her activities. Her recklessness endangered us all.

So the child had been returned safely. No one with the resources of the Shocroft family was going to let it go at that. They'd been put through hell and lost a veritable fortune in the process. Law enforcement too was under criticism for not solving the case. Even the mayor's office had to be scurrying to reassure citizens that their children were safe.

The investigation wouldn't stop here, though it was difficult to see how clues could lead to "The Eagle's" aerie. Even if they never did, eventually, someone would enter that apartment when the building was repaired, and I doubted very much that Martel had the foresight to destroy all the evidence.

I thrummed with impatience all day long until darkness enveloped the city, arriving at Martel's building as early as I dared. She wasn't there; I already sensed that, but I would find her. First, I needed to tidy up the loose ends she'd undoubtedly left behind – evidence that the girl had been held here, which would only reignite public interest, clues to Martel's own existence.

I entered through the same bedroom window as last night, but this time I immediately froze. All my senses were telling me that something was different here, something wrong. No one else was here, not now, so I moved into the parlor.

Like the room I'd just entered, it was in shambles. Part of that was my doing, of course, but not all. Not the eviscerated furniture, the pried up floor boards. Even the ice box had been emptied. The kitchen cabinets were all open, the light fixtures torn from the ceiling. It was the same everywhere in the apartment with the mysterious addition of a pool of water in the middle of the living room floor.

I stood for a long time trying unsuccessfully to puzzle out what had gone on here. My initial fear – that the police had somehow found the place – didn't make sense. The peanut butter and candy wrappers, items that would actually match up with Tildie Shocroft's fanciful account of her abduction, had been left behind.

It troubled me too, that there were scents I couldn't identify. The police would have left a trace of warm, enticing blood smells, and I couldn't detect that at all. On the plus side, there wasn't anything remaining that could point to Martel, no passport, bank statements – nothing.

But Martel herself was still out there somewhere, doing God knows what to flaunt the existence of immortals. I had to find her – and quickly. I grabbed the pillow case from Tildie's bed and stuffed in all the incriminating evidence I could find, made a hasty exit and dumped the whole lot in a trash-can fire some derelicts had started a few blocks from the building.

Then I returned to begin my methodical search for Martel. If the woman had any sense at all she'd be far way from here by now. I didn't hold out a lot of hope for that possibility, and sure enough, just three blocks east, I caught the first echoes of her voice.

What she was thinking spurred me on to a faster pace. "It's my money. I earned it. They call me "The Eagle," you know, which makes me very famous in a way, but of course, no one knows who I really am. Do I look that stupid to you?"

She was actually saying these things, to a man I didn't recognize. I closed the distance between us in record time, furious that this could be happening because of my compunctions about killing her.

They were near the loading platform of a defunct factory. A convenient catwalk afforded a clear view of the scene below, though it didn't seem quite real to me. It looked more like a reenactment from a medieval play.

Martel stood against the wall. Facing her were two figures in hooded cloaks. The taller one – he looked like a giant – grabbed her by the throat and lifted her several feet from the ground. "Tell us about your coven," he demanded.

Incredibly, Martel's thoughts were more angry than fearful. Was she really that brave, or just incredibly dense? "I work alone," she croaked arrogantly.

"And not at all cautiously," the other figure intoned. His accent was different, British. "What do you know about other immortals in this city?"

"I know enough to stay away from them."

"And yet you know so little about the rules that govern us. It's unforgiveable, you understand, to indulge in behavior that might catch the public's eye. The punishment is death, no getting around that, but my friend here can do it quickly or more painfully, depending on what you might offer in exchange."

"You already have my money," Martel hissed. She still appeared defiant, but the inevitability of her situation was finally sinking in.

"And we will have more of it shortly. I was thinking rather of a name or two. A fascinating creature such as yourself must have attracted other immortals, someone else who's aware of your astounding ability to acquire wealth."

"Nobody knows," she insisted, staring down at him with undisguised contempt.

I never knew whether she was actually protecting me or simply refusing to give her attackers the pleasure of an answer. The man who'd done most of the talking was growing impatient, and he thought she was telling the truth. With a flick of his hand, he turned away. There was a cracking sound as the giant tore her head from her body and tossed it behind him.

I'd never doubted my ability to win a fight with any vampire up till now, but I made a mental note to steer clear of that one. I had a feeling my speed and mind skills wouldn't help much against such overwhelming strength, and I would lose.

I remained, half numb, half mesmerized as the two set fire to their victim, staying until the last embers could be kicked aside, pulverized under their boots. Then they melted into the night, as if they'd never existed.

Perhaps I hadn't fully believed in it either – the story of the Volturi, but walking somberly back to my refuge that night, I had no doubt that the "funny old men" from Italy had at last become a reality to Martel.


	22. The Unicorn in Captivity

Chapter 22

The Unicorn in Captivity

I've said there was a balance to my life in the beginning of my time alone.

That's a lie.

Amazing how I can't help doing that even in an effort to show the truth. Yes, I indulged in human pursuits and kept the creature within me well-fed. The key word here is "indulge," because that's all I was doing all the time – exactly what I wanted, when I wanted. It was pure selfishness with barely a thought for anyone else.

But even the illusion of balance began to falter as the Great Depression continued to dig away at the foundations of civilization.

There's no correlation between the two that I can see, unless the general malaise had something to do with my choice of reading material, which consisted primarily of Nietzsche, Kafka and Dostoyevsky – hardly the Marx Brothers of literary humor. They suited my mood at the time, and that's before it went downhill.

I'd tried to keep my hunting on almost a clinical level, carefully selecting my prey, attacking with precision, feeding and covering my tracks. Written out like that, it reads like a model of efficiency, but we both know the missing link in that list, the one that has no human component at all.

Feeding disconnects us from conscious thought. There's only the frenzy and the ecstasy – pure sensation.

At first, it was all about satisfying the hunger but, like all addictions, it gradually became more and more about the emotional reward. The lonelier I became the more I craved proof that I was capable of feeling something and looked forward to that rush that would accompany the next kill. I started to think about it during the sunlit hours, sometimes days before I was well and truly hungry.

The two-week feeding schedule Carlisle had so rigidly trained me to master suddenly seemed like some quaint rule of etiquette whose purpose had been lost in the mists of time. His long experience had led him to conclude it was the most reasonable period any of us could be expected to go between meals. And, oh, how I had fought to get to that goal.

Carlisle had said it was a measure of our control, proof that we were the masters of the monster within us. To me it seemed like some impossible rite of passage that stood between me and manhood, but I kept trying to attain it – to please him, to prove to myself I could be a man despite my frozen age. It took nearly three years, and Carlisle was elated when I proved I could sustain it.

For my part, I did feel absurdly proud of the accomplishment. Looking back, I suppose the feeling got a little out of hand, like many of my emotions. It actually spelled the beginning of the end, as I became more and more convinced I should be my own man, living by my own rules.

If my human life had continued, I'd be long out of my father's house by now. I chaffed at the situation that left me living in the position of a child, even if no one treated me that way. The irritation grew into resentment and then all out rebellion until I slammed out of the house with some overly theatrical speech I've managed to repress.

And yet, out of pure habit, I'd been attempting to observe that meaningless rule.

The rules were mine now. I let that one slide, at first telling myself that there were too many humans who desperately needed to die for me to be so stingy with my justice. It's no wonder I'm so good at lying to humans. I practice so frequently on myself. The truth was I wanted it when I wanted it, and there was never a lack of candidates to keep me well-nourished.

One night I took advantage of a free concert at the band shell in Central Park. A full orchestra was playing, and I let the music take me as it always had, only this time the images that came to mind weren't random or beautiful. I saw my last attack played out in all its grisly detail, not from the detached place I went to at the time, but as if I was standing outside my body, observing the whole thing.

It was very unsettling.

Always I had kept my two personas separate. I thought of nothing else while I was feeding, and when I was pretending to be human, those other thoughts and memories were never allowed to intrude. I could handle my two realities one at a time, but what if one continued to bleed into the other?

The experience repeated itself over the next few weeks, and it didn't matter what kind of music provoked it. A sweet violin concerto became just as lethal as a wailing saxophone, conjuring up everything from the faces of dying victims to their anguished screams.

The associations turned visual as well. The vivid colors and shapes of the new art movement that had once intrigued me as I attempted to unravel their meaning, now assaulted me with their unadorned severity. Their interpretations turned menacing. I couldn't look at them.

Traditional works of art I had once found moving in their beauty seemed to have taken on a patina of reproach, as though I had no right to admire them. It was as if I sullied everything I looked at or heard or even approached. The illusion that I could maintain a Jekyll and Hyde existence was slipping, and it was Dr. Jekyll who was threatening to disappear.

The place that continued to hold my interest the longest was a building site between 33rd and 34th streets. A huge hole, meant for the foundation of a new skyscraper, had been excavated there just before the stock market crash. When construction came to a standstill all over the city, I fully expected the site to be abandoned. But it wasn't.

Instead, a five-story base covering two square acres rose in what seemed like no time at all, and the work never slowed. While the city lay almost stagnant around it, the building continued upward.

Clearly, my grasp of economics was still problematic. How could such an ambitious project keep going full steam ahead, when everything else was languishing?

I calculated that it was growing at an astounding four and a half stories per week. Armed guards patrolled the perimeter on the lookout for anarchists or communists who might regard this blatant symbol of capitalism as a fitting target. Their presence meant nothing to me, nor did the ten-foot fence surrounding the site.

I'd drop by periodically, make my way up the central core designed to house the elevators, and emerge at the highest point, amazed to see how the prospect had changed.

But others things were changing as well – within me, and the pull of the outside world diminished, as I fought to make sense of them. It was a constant battle to keep thoughts I'd once cherished from slipping out of my grasp. The poet's warning that _the centre cannot hold_ whispered in my head like a prophecy.

One day I was sitting in a park, watching a group of children at play, a pastime that usually guaranteed a smile, when out of nowhere the voice of the vampire I'd killed at the docks came into my head.

_Have you ever tried a child? Not filling, of course, but remarkably tender._

What he said had repulsed me then and it did so now, but I gasped with its intrusion into my other life. I got up and left the park, as swiftly as I dared, feeling almost nauseous. There was no way I could continue to be out and about if everything I encountered was instantly besmirched by some hideous association. I might as well be leaving a bloody stain on anything good or pure that drew my interest.

Flailing about for a way to make it stop, I decided I must not be feeding often enough. If my thirst was properly satisfied it wouldn't be leaking its poison into the part of me that made an attempt at respectability. So I hunted more often.

It didn't help. In fact, I only became more obsessed with that side of my nature.

I curtailed any human pursuits, spending days, even weeks, sprawled in a dark corner or standing and staring at nothing. My thoughts, when I allowed myself to have any, were black and bloody. I could feel myself disappearing. Only the ecstatic thrill of slaking my thirst on hot, living blood told me I was still alive and likely to remain so.

The failure of the charade, that I could be a predator and pretend to any human qualities, shredded what remained of my self-esteem. The only thing worse than the inertia and depression was the tiny sliver of hope that inexplicitly refused to die.

I'd be convinced it was snuffed out, only to have it burst into feeble flame, bringing with it a fear that was the worst feeling of all, fear that I might be letting some last stab at decency go untried.

Accordingly, I did manage to pull myself together a few times that year, in an attempt to salvage something. Just getting myself to move with no prey dangling in front of my bloody eyes as a reward took a major effort. I'd retrieve some decent clothing from its hiding place and check into a hotel, where the same black humor awaited me at check-in.

"Any preference which floor you're on?" the desk clerk would ask. "You need the room for sleeping or for jumping?"

"Neither," I'd say, knowing he didn't really care and wouldn't notice that I was practicing honesty in preparation for my role as the common man.

Once I'd made myself look reasonably human, I'd venture out, rigid with the tension of duplicating my old, surprisingly successful façade. I had a little help, thanks to the popularity that year of a new accessory– sunglasses.

I wore them in the rain and even at night. Call me a slave to fashion. They gave me a lot of leeway in the days I could be seen without causing the happy peasants to take up torches in my pursuit.

One-on-one encounters with the innocent were not something I cared to risk in my current state. Instead, I stuck to the periphery of crowds or wandered off on my own, anxious to see if I could actually enjoy something without having my mind bombarded with horror.

One gray day I ventured up to 82nd Street to a special exhibit at the art museum. The fabled 15th c Unicorn Tapestries, belonging to J.D. Rockefeller, were to be displayed briefly before going back into hiding. It was a rare opportunity to see something historically unique that I hoped could keep my demons at bay.

It worked, up to a point. My curiosity was so engaged that I managed to focus, ignoring the threats from my subconscious or whatever part of me was intent on ruining the party. Fortunately, there were only six. It was the last that interested me most, mainly because I immediately found fault with its title.

_The Unicorn in Captivity_ showed the creature in a corral, chained to a fruit tree. It appeared alert and content, lying in a bed of flowers; branches heavy with ripe pomegranates hung above its head.

It doesn't want to escape, I decided. It could. The fence is low, the chain loosely fastened, and the tree too slender to hold against the unicorn's mythical strength.

I'd removed my sunglasses to examine the tapestry closer in hopes of deducing why the creature didn't fight against its fate, when I noticed a woman several yards away looking at me. I put them back on and moved along to the next room.

My concentration was broken. I felt tense and wary and distinctly out of place, but I tried to get it in hand, pausing at a Flemish triptych, meaning to admire the jewel-like colors, but staring instead at the tortured saint in the middle, his body pierced by arrows.

Now the woman had entered the room as well. She pretended to examine the displays, but I caught her throwing me surreptitious glances from time to time. That wasn't unusual. It happened so frequently that I'd learned to accept it, since I seemed to have no choice. My subtle move toward the exit was a response, not to her glances but to her thoughts.

I wasn't in the mood to deal with them.

Moving briskly toward the door, I nearly ran into a guard who looked straight into my face before nodding an answer to my apology and continuing on. Again, I gave thanks both to Mr. Foster, for mass-producing his glasses, and the fashion mavens who had pronounced them _de rigueur_. Without them I might be getting a very different reaction. I stepped out onto the portico and started down the stairs to Fifth Avenue.

"Excuse me!"

Too late. Here she came, mid-thirties dressed in a well-cut navy suit with a fur thrown over her shoulders, and her mind busily sorting through the lines she could use to start a conversation. The one she chose was distinctly unoriginal.

"Could I trouble you for a light?"

I got that a lot, particularly from women. Having already decided that females were more sensitive to our true nature, I had to wonder if there was a correlation between smokers of the gender and their willingness to approach a predator.

Were they looking for tips on sucking from an expert? Or had I missed the article in the Times naming me 'New Yorker most likely to have a light'? If so, they clearly hadn't printed the reason I made it a point to carry one.

"Oh course," I said, pulling a lighter from my pocket and touching it to the cigarette already dangling from her crimson lips.

She inhaled sharply, letting the smoke escape her nose, stalling for time, while she shuffled through what to say next. "Look, I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but I noticed you inside there, your eyes."

So they were bad. I hadn't really checked, assuming they'd be well hidden. I should probably just glue the sunglasses to my face.

"I have a friend who's got a little girl who's . . . like you, and I just had to say something."

"Like me?" I said, expressionless. A vampire child? Who would create such a thing, and how on earth would human parents cope with it?

"Yes, I recognized the signs immediately, except for the hair, of course."

Her voice was raspy, her face, while carefully made up, had a feral look not unlike the face of the hapless creature hanging around her neck. My hair?

My mind shot to the motion picture I'd watched out of curiosity when I first came to New York. It was an old one that professed to depict an immortal like myself. I'd found it highly amusing, since the poor creature possessed none of the traits that might attract his prey.

His teeth were pointed, his hands like claws and he was entirely bald. No wonder humans never spotted us in reality. Still, I must admit, I caught myself running my hands through my hair for days afterwards, just for reassurance.

"Your sort is so rare," she continued, "I've only seen just the two of you in my whole life, so I couldn't pass up the chance to ask you something."

"What sort would that be?" I asked evenly.

"Well, you know." She looked around as if she feared being overheard. "I don't like to say the word."

Fortunately, I caught "the word" as it flitted through her mind and managed to speak it with a straight face. "You mean 'albino'?"

"Don't say that," she hissed. "It sounds so vile – like aborigine, as if an innocent little girl could be a filthy savage. Can you imagine how insults like that make her feel?"

"I doubt the aborigines would appreciate it either," I said, "and albino simply means white."

"I don't care what it means. It's a horrible thing to call a child. My friend won't let her play with other children for fear they'll torment her. When I saw your eyes and pale skin, I realized you must dye your hair. I don't think Mabel's ever thought of that, but it would do a lot to hide the condition, and yours is such a lovely color. Would you mind telling me what you use?"

Did men actually dye their hair? Did anyone, except performers? "I don't," I said. "This is my natural color."

"Well, I don't see how that's possible," she snapped, mentally labeling me a liar.

I've never understood why I can lie 90 percent of the time and everyone swallows it whole, but on those rare occasions when I actually tell the truth, they don't believe me.

"This little girl has no color in her hair at all, and her eyes are not nearly as red as yours."

"That's because she's albino, which only means she doesn't have as much pigment as the average person. Perhaps coloring her hair would make it easier for her to fit in. You might suggest it to her mother. I, on the other hand, suffer from a different condition."

I deliberately removed my sunglasses, fastening her with an intense, scarlet stare that sent a riot of conflicting emotions rattling around her brain. She turned almost purple, then white as soap. Her mouth opened and closed like a carp, and because she seemed incapable of moving, I took it upon myself to nod a polite good-bye and make my escape.

That was the last time I risked going out in public before my eye color had settled into something that could pass as normal. I'm not even sure why I've included the incident here. Perhaps because in retrospect it's rather amusing, and these pages have been short on comic relief. More likely, I'm just trying to avoid the truth again.

So let's go with the worst of that, the fact that twice – or five times, depending on how you look at it – I chose victims who may have been innocent of spilling human blood. And before you try to blame that on my addiction, as I've so clearly tried to do in the above passages, I must add a caveat – I wasn't thirsty and I didn't bother to take their blood.

I've mentioned being acquainted with some of the ladies of the evening. The fact is, we formed a rather peculiar alliance. I was propositioned one night not long after my arrival in New York, as any reasonably sober man would be at a certain hour. I declined, I hope politely, but my interest was captured by an overheard conversation among them.

One of their number had been found brutally beaten in the East River only a week before, and another narrowly escaped that fate when a delivery van pulled up at the doorway where she was being assaulted.

I thought about it a moment and retraced my steps till I found the woman who'd approached me.

"Changed your mind, did you handsome? You won't be sorry." She looked to be in her mid-twenties and possibly pretty under an obscene amount of makeup.

"Actually, no, but I wondered if the lady who was attacked described her assailant."

She eyed me suspiciously, as well she might. "Now, why do you want to know a thing like that?"

"I'm in this area frequently. If I saw someone meeting that description, I would make it a point to alert a policeman."

"You would, huh?" She thought I was lying but couldn't figure out what my angle might be. "Red-headed bruiser," she said finally, "with a thick Irish accent."

I nodded. "Thank you. I'll keep an eye out."

Within the month, I managed to catch this person in the act, or more precisely with a cudgel raised above his hapless victim; he never even saw me. A few weeks later, one of the ladies had her front teeth knocked out, and when that customer showed up again, he left the area with even fewer.

I was that discerning in the early days, that in control of everything I did. If a client raised a fist to one of the girls, he'd find his arm broken without ever getting a good look at who did it. I only killed when the intent was murder. The rest was a public service.

Naturally, the street was abuzz with tales, many of them highly exaggerated, of the uncanny justice being meted out by a person or persons unknown. I made it a point to visit the neighborhood periodically and inquire about their welfare, and they made a point of telling me.

They were smart enough to realize these incidents of vigilante justice correlated with my presence, and smart enough not to believe for a minute that a soft-spoken 17-year-old of slender build could be responsible for them. They were baffled as to what the connection might be and too grateful to question it.

Instead, I became a kind of pet, odd as that sounds. They settled on the conceit that I was their lucky charm, and I went along with it. Even if I'd looked physically capable of the acts described, they could never have imagined how I happened to be at the right place at the right time.

The answer was simple – to me anyway. At their prime hours of business most of the area was shut down. Only a small fraction of the voices crowding my head earlier in the evening remained. Honing in on an Irish brogue, for instance, was easy.

Their first impulse was to reward me in the only currency they had, thus robbing me of my usual line of defense – the excuse that I had no money.

Simply saying "I'd rather not," which would have been accepted as a polite refusal of anything from a second piece of cake to membership in the communist party by my parents' society, didn't cut it with this group.

They teased and wheedled and claimed to be devastated by my rejection. It was by far the worst thing about our acquaintance. I've said it was a peculiar alliance, but that's an understatement. It was a match made in Hell, if you consider that the one subject I fought hardest to avoid was the one they talked about constantly.

Sex.

"Tell me the truth, sweetie," Vera said one night when no one else was around. She was the one who had first approached me, and it was she who kept me up to date on any trouble. "Is it that you prefer boys, because you're not going to shock me. I've seen everything, I can tell you."

"Boys? What . . .no!" She might not have been shocked, but I was. I'd heard the usual stories in school, but I'd never been entirely sure that one was true.

"What then? You're shy, right? Everybody has to start somewhere, honey. Better one of us than a silly little girl who should be home with her mama or some little tramp who's no better than she should be.

"We know what we're doing, and it doesn't have to be me. Any one of us would be proud to be your first. What kind of girl do you think about when you're in your bed at night, hmm? Tell me, and we'll find someone who fits the bill. How about Millie? She's just your age."

Millie was not my age. She was 21. I'd read it in her thoughts, but she looked younger and some men seemed to like that. She was either too old for me or too young, depending on how you were counting. I really needed this conversation to stop, but I couldn't for the life of me think of a way to make that happen.

"And don't you worry," Vera continued, her voice soft and sincere. "Whoever you choose will take it slow – whatever you've dreamed about or imagined or maybe seen on those naughty French postcards, just say the word and it's yours."

"I can't," I got out finally. "I physically can't." It wasn't even a lie. I had no illusions about being able to control the one instinct I'd managed to repress for over a decade. Whoever attempted to "befriend" me in that way was bound to end up dead.

Vera wasn't buying it. "Look sweetie, men are always afraid of that, but it's rarely true. The old ones have trouble getting it started and with you young ones it goes away too fast, but there are tricks to solving those problems." And she proceeded to start describing the remedies in shocking detail.

Excruciating. That was the word for it.

"What . . . what if I told you that actually. . . actually . . . I'm a man of God?"

It was the first thing I thought of. Why I couldn't imagine. God wanted as little to do with me as possible, I was fairly certain. But if it got her to quit talking, I didn't care.

Instead, she started laughing. "Oh, honey, men of God are the very worst. You should see the things that priest from St. Anthony's gets up to, and then he tops it off by screaming, 'Repent!' like a Southern Baptist."

"All right," I said, "I'll tell you the truth." The pressure of that statement usually inspires me to come up with an excellent lie, but the one that popped into my head did not impress me. "I'm saving myself . . . for marriage."

It stopped her momentarily, and I waited to see whether she'd laugh again or go back to assaulting my hormones with a smorgasbord of sexual images.

To my astonishment, she bit her lip and tears welled in her eyes. "Oh, if that isn't the sweetest thing I've ever heard! I told the girls you looked like an angel, and I truly believe you are one. There is one very lucky girl waiting for you, sweetheart. I sure hope she appreciates you when you find her."

"Thanks," I said, a little dumbstruck by her reaction.

Of course, she told the others and they all declared it was "so romantic." They stopped trying to seduce me, which was a relief, but now I was treated like evidence that chivalry had never died.

All I'd really done was try to keep from killing any of them, which seemed little enough, and I was being celebrated for it. I felt like a louse, as often seemed to happen when I talked my way out of something.

I went to the area less and less often. As a hunting ground, it had virtually dried up. Vera said business had markedly improved. The neighborhood now had a reputation for safety that brought out some of the higher-paying clients who hadn't wanted to risk getting mixed up in violence.

"They say we've got the meanest pimp in all the five boroughs. Nobody dares to lay a hand on any of the girls."

At last, a job reference to put on my hitherto blank resume: pimp.

_If Carlisle could see me now. _

That all happened in the first three years of my New York sojourn. Later, when I was basically living for the kill, I went back one night. Vera was still there.

"This just proves you're our guardian angel," she greeted me. "We haven't had a bit of trouble until last week, and here you are."

"What happened?" It was my longest speech in many days.

"This fella tries to get one of the girls to go with him. She asks to see his money and he punches her in the nose."

"That's it?" I guess I'd been hoping for something that would justify a blood bath. That sounded more like a routine hazard of the business.

"Yeah, well, I have a bad feeling about this one. The crumb's got a nasty reputation. I'm not so sure he'll leave it at that."

"Which girl?"

"You don't know her. Her name's Esther. She hangs around the Rexall about two blocks down that way. You can't miss her. She's got two black eyes."

"Thanks," I said. It was so long since I'd talked to Vera. Our sporadic acquaintance was the closest thing to a relationship I'd had since leaving Chicago. I probably should have said more, but talking belonged to the human side of me, which was clearly on its way out.

Esther saw me coming and slithered out of the doorway, striking a provocative pose. "Hey there, handsome. Want some sweet lovin'?"

"No, I want a description of the man who hit you."

"Huh? What are you, a cop?"

"If I was, you'd be wearing handcuffs. I'm a friend of Vera's."

I watched the light dawn in her extremely colorful face. "Her angel – the one she calls our lucky charm!"

_And the meanest pimp in five boroughs_, I thought wearily. "Yes. What can you tell me about him?"

"His name's Johnny Studdard. They call him Johnny Stutters."

"Does he stutter?"

"No, he hits. Hard." She touched her swollen nose tentatively, as if to make sure it was still there. "He's got black hair, bald on top. Way shorter than you. Nasty little piggy eyes and one of those goat things on his chin."

"A goatee?"

She nodded. "And he said he's going to make me sorry."

"Anything distinctive about the way he talks?"

"Yeah – mean. You don't really think he'll come after me again, do you?"

"Vera's just concerned. Be careful."

I retreated a few blocks away, sinking into the shadows of a recessed doorway, glad I didn't have to speak anymore. I spent the better part of three days there off and on, tracking the voices surrounding me, nostrils flaring at every blood-laden pedestrian that passed me by.

I didn't know what this Johnny sounded like, but I knew what Esther sounded like – someone whose nose had been smashed.

When I heard her cry, it took me by surprise, because it was raining heavily, not a good night for doing business on the street. I found her only two blocks away in a basement filled with disintegrating boxes, ripe with mildew. They'd bound and gagged her, and there was a filthy rag wrapped around her eyes. The man I was looking for was ripping at her clothes, while the other three egged him on.

"Two bits a taste, gents, and all you can handle!"

When I slipped in quietly, the one standing nearest to me was digging through his pockets for change. "Hey, get in line, pal," he greeted me.

I slaughtered all four of them.

It was brief but satisfying in its own way. Esther had scooted back into a corner, unable to see what was going on. She was shaking and sniveling, and I realized it must be hard for her to breathe, so I dropped the two by four I was using to make the massacre look more like a routine beating, and pulled off her gag. I left the blindfold in place.

"It's all right now," I told her, hardly able to recognize my own voice. "They're dead. Just wait here."

I left to tell Vera where she could find Esther, and I'll never forget the look on her face.

I'd ceased being careful – about anything. There was blood on my clothes. I suppose my eyes were wild. She shrank back, this person who'd petted and praised and romanticized me, the one who'd "seen everything." She stared at me in horror, truly seeing me for the first time. I did nothing to ease her disillusionment.

"There are no angels," I said flatly and left her standing in the rain.

It was the blindfold that did it. The perfect measure of how far I'd fallen, because our minds can hold so much. Even filled with murderous rage, I'd taken in its significance in those first seconds, taken it in and ignored it.

If they'd truly intended to kill Esther, there was no reason for it. She wouldn't be around to identify them. So I'd just murdered four people who were not planning to kill another human.

My pride in my carefully measured out punishments had been a joke, another exercise in self-justification that meant absolutely nothing in the end. The death penalty – one size fits all. That's what it had come down to and I didn't even care.

Then there was the stranger I killed in cold blood right in the middle of a Bowery street on a dark, dark night. As far as I know, he may never have harmed his fellow man. He certainly wasn't thinking of such a possibility when I snagged him by his hair, lifted him in an arc the length of my arm and smashed him, head first, into the cobblestones.

I was as indifferent as if he'd been a hornet. Only what I had to do next really touched me. The horse was still thrashing in the traces, its eyes wild with pain and fear, as it struggled pitifully to rise.

Its leg was so obviously broken. I'd seen that immediately when I'd come upon the cart stalled in the middle of the road and the driver relentlessly cursing and beating the fallen animal with all his might.

I moved swiftly to put the agonized creature out of its misery. All the while a perverse voice in my mind whispered that perhaps this man was a loving father to children I had just casually orphaned, that this act could be an aberration in an otherwise blameless life.

You should never listen to strange voices in your brain. They're just one more indication that you've gone completely insane.

In any case, it's the horse's image that comes back to me with regret – not the human whose brains splattered the cobbles.

The pattern continued, only with even fewer forays out of my lair. I would listen and watch and feel the first stirrings of outrage that any right-thinking human ought to feel; only I didn't turn away. I didn't summon a litany of moral or religious teachings as an excuse not to act. I fed the fire, relinquishing control to the monster.

No hatred was hotter than mine, and no horror could match the look on my victim's faces in that last second before they died. I was greedy as well, draining them long past the need to sate my thirst. Why I'm not sure.

My efforts to think about anything other than killing never met with much success. Why were they still building that skyscraper when people were starving? Why didn't the unicorn break free? What the hell was his problem? My solution to everything was to seek those few blissful moments while feeding, a precious respite from the pain and anger.

Once on a wild, rainy night in the midst of the bloodlust, the thought sprang into my mind that I was simply being a dutiful son. My father – my real father, Edward Masen, senior – drilled into me at an early age that anything worth doing was worth doing well. And my mother, my gentle, green-eyed mother had urged me to find something I truly loved doing and make that my life's work.

Well, I'm doing that, I thought, as a crazed kind of laugh bubbled up through the fresh blood in my throat. I'm good at this. Very good. And I do so enjoy it.

There was something frightening in my misplaced humor. The laughter caught in my throat, gagging me, and I stumbled to the curb where I threw up a portion of my substantial meal.

I didn't even hear the policeman approach until he was right there at my shoulder, nightstick in hand. "What's the problem here?" he demanded in a gruff voice.

I was still doubled over. Something hurt, but I couldn't imagine what. I turned my head to look at him, aware that there was blood running down my chin. Could he see my red eyes in this dim light? And did it really make any difference?

The situation suddenly struck me as ludicrous. Here I was, covered in blood, my latest victim only yards away, and the law had conveniently appeared to haul me off to my just retribution. Perfect. Why hadn't I already taken off? Was I going to let go of that last vestige of morality and kill someone who was only trying to protect the innocent, like I'd pretended to do? I didn't really know.

"Has this happened before?" he said, frowning at me.

_Yes_! I wanted to shout. _It happens all the time. Haven't you noticed the body count? What is the matter with you people?_

Then his thoughts got through to me, and I realized he assumed I was ill, that I was spitting up my own blood.

That insane laughter threatened to bubble up again.

"Come on, son. Let's get you to a doctor."

A doctor? Not prison, not the gallows. It all just got funnier and funnier, but I felt incapable of making a rational decision. I simply followed him to the patrol car and folded myself into the backseat.

The hospital was only a few blocks away, a small neighborhood annex, thankfully not the one with the pretty nurse who thought I rescued children and fought fires.

I followed my captor meekly into the emergency room, where he addressed a nurse behind the desk. "This young fella's been spitting up blood. Better have a doctor take a look."

"Of course, officer." The nurse came out from behind the desk. She was a big woman, at once commanding and maternal, a type I'd noticed was the mainstay of many a hospital.

"You take it easy now, son." The cop patted me once on the shoulder and went out the door, leaving behind what might have been his greatest chance of glory, a criminal who'd lost count of the number of people he'd murdered. Instead, he was concerned about me.

Did the irony never end?

"Now, what seems to be the problem here?" the nurse said, looking me up and down with a practiced eye. "You spittin' up blood?"

I was squinting in an effort to hide my scarlet eyes, looking everywhere but at her. No way would this woman put their condition down to burst blood vessels.

"No, not really," I answered. "I was in a fight."

"Anything hurt?"

I knew her perusal would have found not a scratch on me despite the blood-soaked shirt. "No, actually, I feel fine. It's not my blood."

"Uh-huh. Then I'm guessing the other idiot didn't do so well. Where's he at?"

Finally, a way out. "Nearby," I said.

"Well, if you're feeling so fine and all, why don't you go get him and bring him back here. This place is for sick folks."

"I will, thank you."

Of course, I left and never looked back. Once I'd holed up in my vermin-filled hideaway again, I tried to glean some lesson from the bizarre experience. It confirmed that I was slowly going insane, but I already knew that.

And the cosmic joke continued, decreeing that no matter how despicable and depraved I became, someone, somewhere would give me the benefit of the doubt. Did I really have the ability to seem that innocent, that angelic? It boggled my mind.

There were only two worthwhile facts I could garner from the experience: I was getting unforgivably careless about discovery, and my table manners were in definite need of improvement.


	23. What Rough Beast

Chapter 23

What Rough Beast

I'd always been rather fastidious when I fed, a childhood lesson that had taken root in my personality, I suppose. Through all my growing up years, meals were served on a snowy lace tablecloth. I still remember feeling proud the day my mother gave me permission to place the soft linen napkin on my lap like the adults, instead of tucking it into my collar.

Why were thoughts of my parents making their way through a mind so set on murder? It seemed disrespectful to their memories even to have their images in my head. I tried thinking of nothing at all, but that just gave the worst visions free rein.

How had I ever thought I could keep a balance between what I'd become and the human things I was so reluctant to give up? So I went out among normal people now and then and didn't kill them. What a sterling accomplishment!

I slammed a fist into the wall of the abandoned building I currently called home, bringing a deluge of rotten ceiling tiles down on my head. The anger was making it increasingly hard to stay still, and I had no target for it but myself. It was my rebelliousness, my stubbornness, my certainty that I was right that had brought me to this point.

I leveled a sharp kick at the opposite wall and the whole thing buckled, dislodging the remaining ceiling tiles and causing the entire surface to undulate ominously. Bringing the building down wouldn't do much in the way of self-punishment beyond a little inconvenience, but it would certainly draw unwanted attention.

Accordingly, I slammed my way outside, thrust my hands in my pockets and started down the street, keeping my head low, as I fought to get my temper under control.

I needed to hunt.

It had only been a day and a half since my last meal, but I'd lost most of that in the gutter. Nothing could stop the recriminations coming at me like bullets, nothing but the blessed oblivion that came in the murderous act I was destined to perpetuate forever.

A man walking toward me suddenly swerved and crossed the street. Another pressed himself against the building as he passed. Not good. My eyes wouldn't be distinct in the darkness. Was my deterioration evident in my posture?

For the first time I noticed my clothes, the clean ones I'd put on before burying the bloody ones in a dumpster. They were all smeared with white. I put a hand to my hair to find it filled with plaster. With both hands I attempted to shake the chalky substance out of my hair and brush it from my pants. One knee had a rip in it. My coat was missing a button. This was the best I could do? Did I have other clothes? I couldn't remember.

No wonder people avoided me.

I stopped at Chambers Street. Between the traffic on Broadway and that pouring over the Brooklyn Bridge, there were bound to be some sinister types crossing my path before too long. I pressed my back against the brick-walled drugstore on the corner, closed my eyes, and concentrated on standing still, summoning the patience necessary to wait for a suitable victim.

How long would it be before I lost control of this last vestige of restraint and simply attacked the first convenient human? I'd managed to lose everything else. The inevitability of it shaped itself to my body like lead.

Shards of brick crumbled to the sidewalk where my fingers dug into the wall behind me, but I kept control. This is the part you're good at, I told myself. You still have this, and it will take the pain away – soon.

For over an hour I rummaged through the minds available to me. There was scarcely a pleasant thought to be found, but nothing that fit my criteria, until a hurried conversation caught my attention.

"Stay here and keep the engine running. This could take a while, so keep an eye out for cops and honk if they show. You got that?"

"I got it, Frankie."

If that wasn't plans for a getaway, I didn't know what was. I pushed away from the wall and slid wraithlike through the shadows toward the voices, sinking into the shadows just ahead of them.

"So what did this guy do, huh?" A third voice, more nasal than the others.

"He owes me money, okay? We're gonna see he pays up."

"So we put a beatin' on him, right, Frankie?"

"Yeah, go to town, numskull. Rearrange his face, but I didn't say he owed me a _lot_ of money. If he did, we'd want him alive so's he could pay it back. This deadbeat claims he needed the dough for his wife and kid, and I'm such a sentimental sap, I gave it to him. He's not gonna be scoring no big haul anytime soon. Lousy customer, but he could make a good lesson for any other chumps out there who think they can screw with us."

The two men, roughly dressed, early twenties, took up a post almost opposite me in the dark alley. I could see them clearly, but I was one with the darkness now. They'd never sense my presence until it was too late.

"So how'd you know he'd come this way?"

"I told ya. He's a family man, runs like a clock, and put the rod away. I don't want no noise." As he spoke, the bigger man took what looked like a sock from inside his coat, heavy, I was sure, with rocks or some kind of hardware.

The men grew increasingly agitated as they waited. I, on the other hand, had calmed down. It was coming soon. I could almost taste it and the blessed relief it would bring. Even the anticipation was so delicious that the usual thoughts couldn't get past it to torment me.

About 15 minutes passed before a lone figure turned into the alley, hunched against the cold. I let him draw closer, reveling in the control. I hadn't lost anything, I could wait for my victims to turn their deadly purpose into action, proving the rightness of my choice.

They leapt out of their hiding place, but I am – oh, so much faster. With one hand on each of their necks, I drove them back against the wall and hissed, "Go!" to the startled newcomer.

He hadn't seen my face. In his mind he knew exactly what had almost happened to him; he'd been dreading it with sheer terror for days, and now he couldn't believe there was a chance of escape. He stood for a moment, paralyzed with the knowledge and then panic propelled him off to safety.

I sank my razor-sharp teeth into "Frankie," and drew the life force out of him with more passion than any mere animal could ever summon. His blood churned through my body, painting my mind a soothing featureless red. I was in a place that consisted of pure pleasure, no doubts or recriminations, just a conscienceless utopia where I was what I was.

It was over all too soon. I dropped him like an empty suit of clothes to the alley floor and turned my attention to the second man, who had lost consciousness. My thirst had been satiated but not the need for that ecstatic rush to quiet the pain. I tore into him, plunging gratefully back into oblivion.

My body couldn't hold his blood as well. Half of it I spit out. He was emptied just as I became conscious of another figure at the entrance to the alley.

"Frankie, Dots, what's keepin' you guys?"

Another one.

This was obviously my lucky night. I slid along the alley wall as if it were ice, coming up behind the third man, as charged with anticipation and unholy power as if I hadn't fed in weeks. My arm swung up to strike.

"Come on, Frankie . . . please. I done what you said. She's gonna die!"

I hesitated.

And I didn't even know why. In a process that seemed to take hours, though it was surely only a fraction of a second, I fumbled through the haze in my brain. It registered that this one was crying. His thoughts were a tangle of fear – not anger, not murderous intent.

I blinked, trying to locate that part of me still capable of rational thought, and lowered my arm. He was probably about my age and he was shaking all over.

I moved my hand to the nape of his neck and steered him as non-violently as I could manage, until his face was against the wall. "Close your eyes," I growled, "and do not turn around. What are you talking about?"

"Oh, Jeez," he sobbed. "Please don't hurt me. Frankie said – "

"I'm not . . . I'm not going to hurt you," I said in what I hoped was a more soothing voice. I'd said it, and now I needed to make sure it didn't turn into a lie. "Frankie and his friend won't either. Just tell me what happened." I could sense him swallowing back the tears. He relaxed a very little.

"Those guys – Frankie and Dots. They're real bad characters. They been after me and after me to do stuff I don't wanna do, and tonight they snatch my sister. They tie her up and stuff a rag in her mouth. Frankie says they ain't letting her go unless I help 'em do some job. I did it. I drove 'em here, but it's takin' too long. I'm afraid she's gonna smother."

"Where is she?" Unconsciously my hand had moved to his shoulder in an almost reassuring gesture.

"She's in the trunk and Frankie's got the keys," he sniffled.

"Stay right here, and do not open your eyes. It's going to be all right."

I moved silently to the fallen men, rummaging through pockets till I came up with the keys. "Here," I said, returning to the boy and placing them in his hand. "Go, let her out. Now. And don't come back."

He raced toward the end of the alley, not looking back at me. "Thanks, mister!"

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, focusing on his panicked thoughts as he opened the trunk, and those of the girl whose terror turned to relief when she saw him. I felt strangely numb, as I turned back to my kill and went through the necessary motions to obscure their cause of death.

Returning to my current lair, I collapsed heavily into a pile of plaster. I had almost done it. My fearful prediction had very nearly come true within the hour it had been made.

This couldn't go on. However my life as a predator had begun, I'd been slow to recognize that it was on a downward spiral, getting worse and more out of control as it headed inevitably toward annihilation, leaving nothing but blood and death and unending sorrow in its wake.

I dug the heels of my hands into my blood-filled eyes, trying to see things as they were. It had to stop, but who was there to stop it? God, if he existed, would not be wasting his infinite mercy on a creation of the devil like myself. Without him, all those cosmic decisions about who should live or die were left up to me, and I wasn't that good at it. I was tired of it. In fact, I hated it.

There was no one else.

I was back to the fact of my aloneness. Nobody was ever going to be willing or capable of helping me. If it was to be done at all, I had to do it myself.

My mind balked as a vision of my mother invaded it. I couldn't fight it off. I hadn't the strength. Her absolute faith in me. Her pride. Carlisle had said she died peaceful in the knowledge of his promise to save me.

It wasn't for this, she had wanted me saved. Even Carlisle, who'd given me immortality, had done his best to steer me another way. I'd become adept at accepting the blame for my own actions, but not the responsibility.

I had ceded all my power to the monster, and what had it gotten me? Only those brief illicit moments of relief and joy at the expense of absolutely everything else I'd ever valued. And tonight I had almost crossed a line in its service, the line between attacking the perpetrator and the victim.

The thought shook me all over again. I pulled my knees up, resting my forehead wearily against them. My stomach hurt from gorging myself, but that would change. What would happen the first time the thirst started up in me again?

And the answer came, unwelcome, but crystal clear– only what I allowed to happen. The problem was I had proved myself one of the weakest excuses for a man possible. How was I supposed to regain control over the monster?

The only idea I could come up with was both stupidly obvious and seemingly impossible. I had to stop making him the center of my universe. I needed to get back in touch with something other than death, however tenuously. That wouldn't be easy with everything that had once interested me warped and distorted.

I had to stop looking at the forest – the dark, treacherous, limitless forest – and just focus on getting safely from one tree to the next. Start small, I told myself. Start by making the time between feedings longer.

Leave it to me to opt for the easy way. There was no excuse for eating as often as I had been lately except to feed my addiction for oblivion, and that addiction needed to be broken. Besides, it was easy to say that now, when I was safely overfed.

It turned out not to be easy at all. I might as well never have mastered anything, never passed Carlisle' rigorous test, never maintained the illusion of balance between the monster and something more human. It was like starting from scratch.

I almost scrapped the whole effort as another hopeless delusion I'd foisted on myself, when four days later I was back at it. Even holed up in this no-man's-land of a neighborhood, I heard the accident five blocks away.

Two pedestrians mowed down in a hit-and-run. I could see the whole thing in the minds of the witnesses. The man was clearly dead, the woman still moving. People rushed to see to her, and someone went to call an ambulance.

It was easy to tune into the thoughts of the fleeing motorist. I followed them, mostly by way of the rooftops, till he drove into the dark area under an elevated train trestle where I dropped down in front of him. His attempt to make me his third victim of the night was laughable.

I dragged him from his almost new, severely damaged DeSoto and swung him up against a chain-link fence.

"What . . . who?" he managed to splutter.

"You did something wrong. You ran over two people and didn't even stop to see if they were dead."

"It's the hooch! It's not my fault. I gotta drinking problem!"

He certainly looked stone-cold sober now with his eyes bugging out. "So do I," I said and proved it.

If I was going to make this work, I had to be realistic about the goals I set for myself. I'd made if for four days the first time, so I shot for that again and made it. I extended it to five, got cocky and went for six, slid back to four, and so it went. It was over a month before I managed a full week, and then I nearly rewarded myself with a bonus meal.

My modest gains at abstinence had, however, apparently allowed my rational side to stir itself, pointing out the prize was highly inappropriate for the contest.

I needed that.

Intellectualizing the situation would help, I was certain, but it was hard to draw on faculties that had been bullied into impotence for so long.

The second seven-day wait was just as hard as the first, but I managed to hold off before plunging back into the pool of low-lifes New York kept so freshly stocked. And that was one victim. Objectively, his blood was quite sufficient to keep me going for two weeks, I knew that, but I also knew that it wouldn't, and, honestly, the thrill was just as potent as always. I won't lie by saying I didn't wish to prolong the whole experience.

Over the next few weeks, I succeeded in getting to ten days, backsliding (I won't say to what), and then holding steady for three full cycles. It was not without cost. I stayed sequestered, fighting my demons in the darkness to one shaky victory after another, and trying to engage my brain in something other than black thoughts.

At first, I tried to think of myself as two entities – the monster and what was left of my human side. The former had been given his way ad nauseum. It was time to give the latter his due, only I didn't feel like he deserved a damned thing, considering his pitiful lack of control.

The concept worked better if I thought of it as the beast vs. the man my parents had expected me to be, the one Carlisle had been fostering. He was a hopelessly idealized version of myself, but perhaps that's what it would take to offset the monster.

Now that I'd conveniently divided myself into parts, I began wondering if I'd developed a split personality, an idea introduced by the popular new science of psychology. That became another goal – to whip myself into shape enough to go out into the city again, visit my old haunt – the library reading room – and read up on the subject.

Another two months went by before I managed that one. It went pretty well. I sat down just a few feet from the nearest humans without feeling an urge to eat a one of them and found the reading material interesting enough to stave off other images.

On the downside, I concluded that split-personality was not my problem after all. Instead, I appeared to be a textbook narcissist, which seemed blatantly unfair when I couldn't stand myself most of the time.

And I still hadn't reached my goal of going two weeks between feedings. I finally made it to twelve days, but by that time I was fighting off dark, mocking visions that urged me to embrace their version of "the truth."

My worst mistake in trying to halt the downward slide had been thinking that devoting more time to the monster would help. The only way I knew to reverse that was to spend more time among humans, the problem being that monster-time held rewards – slaking my thirst, those few moments of rapture. Real life held no such promise. It was just the first small step I could think of, the first tree to jump for.

I brought all my things from the decaying refuge that had been my home these last months and checked into a midtown hotel. This one was nicer than those I usually chose. If I was going to test my ability to mix with humans then I needed to do so in a place that had a few standards.

The desk clerk, a balding man with a neat little moustache, greeted me mechanically when I first checked in, but reacted more warmly as my stay went on.

"How was your day today, Mr. Masen?" he called, as I returned one afternoon. "The world treating you all right?"

"Very well, thank you, Mr. Tate."

It was on such flimsy interactions that I hoped to build a rapport with living people, nothing close, of course, but just something to convince myself I could still pull off the human thing.

I went back to paying attention to my clothes, careful to look my best. Each morning I stopped by the hotel coffee shop and bought a coffee and doughnut to go. Couldn't have a rumor starting that I never ate anything. I'd hand it off to the first homeless person I encountered, who was never more than a block or two from the hotel.

With my new hunting schedule seemingly stuck forever in a twelve-day cycle, there were only a few days each month when the sunglasses were absolutely necessary – those just before or after a feeding, and the "before" was only a problem for those who'd seen me looking normal.

I didn't attempt too much at first, mostly strolling the streets, looking in the shop windows. When I did test the waters, I was sorry. I let myself into Carnegie Hall one night, hoping to enjoy some good music after so many months without, but found it still impossible.

With every swell of sound I expected a corresponding wave of reproachful images, memories of what I'd done. They didn't come, but just the prospect of imminent horror, made me too uncomfortable to stay.

I returned to my hotel room one night to find a bottle of Champagne sitting on the dresser. The night clerk, a young man with a perpetual smile, greeted me when I returned to the lobby.

"I'm afraid there's been a mistake," I began. "An item was left in my room that must have been meant for someone else."

"You mean the bubbly?" he said in a conspiratorial whisper. "No, Mr. Masen, that was specifically sent to you by another guest."

"What other guest?"

"Miss Berber. If you want to thank her, she's sitting right over there in the lounge."

I followed his gaze across the lobby, where a young woman sat watching us. She raised one hand and wiggled her fingers. Beautiful, I noted in spite of myself. A radiant brunette in a green satin dress, sitting in a deep, soft chair that showed her long legs to perfection.

I crossed the lobby toward her, shoving that first impression into the mental dungeon where it belonged.

"Miss Berber?"

"Mr. Masen," she greeted me, extending a perfectly manicured hand. "I'm so happy to meet you at last. Please, sit down."

There seemed no polite way to refuse. I took the chair next to hers. "Your gift was very generous," I began.

"My gift? What would that be?" Her dark eyes sparkled above a look of mock innocence.

"The Champagne."

"Champagne? Oh, surely, you're mistaken. That would be illegal. You can call me Judy, by the way."

"Well, Judy, I'm afraid I don't understand what would prompt you to send me a gift. We've never met, have we?"

"No, darn the luck, but I figured I owed it to you for all the moments of pleasure you've given me since you checked in here."

"I don't understand."

She studied my face in a disconcerting way. "Do you know I would kill for those eyelashes."

A woman who gave strangers illegal gifts and was willing to commit murder for obscure body parts. I was reasonably sure none of my long-ago lessons in etiquette had included this.

"Just watching you walk across the lobby," she said with a deep sigh. "We were actually in the elevator together one day, though I don't think you noticed me. Do you realize you even smell heavenly?"

I was at a loss and must have looked it, because she continued with a laugh. "You're going to make me say it, aren't you, you naughty boy? You're the handsomest man I've ever laid eyes on. There, I've done it. Now it's your turn."

My turn? I felt like I'd been challenged to a game of chess without knowing all the moves, but this one was obvious even to me. "Thank you. You're a very attractive woman."

"Well, now that we've got that out of the way. My room number is 311."

"You want me to bring you the Champagne?"

"That would be swell, too." She smiled, raising one eyebrow suggestively.

The females who typically approached me did so with a blush and an attempt to start a casual conversation. This was . . . different. More like the ladies of the evening, who took my indifference as a personal challenge. I understood them. They were simply trying to survive the best way they knew how.

"What exactly do you do for a living, Miss Berber?" I asked, just in case.

"You're asking about my profession?" She seemed taken aback.

"Yes . . . it would be helpful . . ." This was not going at all well.

"I'm a secretary, if you must know." She frowned, her posture slowly stiffening. "Say, what are you implying?" She snatched up the clutch bag at her side and rose from the chair. "I should have known. Any guy that looks as good as you must be a first-class heel. Well, it's your loss, mister. I would have been the best you've ever had!"

Her voice had risen with her and now people were staring as she flounced off toward the elevators. I ran my hand self-consciously through my hair, wondering if I could disappear fast enough to make the gawkers doubt I'd ever been there.

Finally, I mustered what dignity I could and got up, heading for the door. Halfway across the lobby, I was elbowed by a grinning man in a business suit. "You've got a whole lot more will-power than I do, buddy," he chortled.

_Doubtful_.

I plunged through the revolving door, sending it spinning. What a disaster. Relating to humans just shouldn't be this hard. A block away from the hotel, I realized my quick strides probably made me appear aggressive to the people I passed and deliberately slowed my pace.

Well, I _was_ angry – at myself, at Fate, at anyone else who cared to apply for the job. And I was angry at the fact that what I really wanted to do was kill someone and escape into mindless euphoria. That would set me back to a pitiful eleven-day cycle.

No. I'd already bungled one situation tonight. I wasn't going to give in on another. I just needed to analyze what I'd done wrong. That was fairly evident. I'd walked straight into a human confrontation for which I was completely unprepared. She'd been right about one thing, I thought sardonically. She would have been the best I ever had.

Mentally, I backed up against the dungeon door, holding it shut with every ounce of strength. I just needed to keep more distance, let human interactions come to me instead of blundering into them. I'd start again tomorrow – go out and about, confine my contacts to mannerly pleasantries, and perhaps, slowly, I'd get better at this.

The Wheel of Fortune has always seemed a rigid concept to me, but perhaps at times a delicate spoke is added with the power to change everything that follows. I only know that – looking back on it now – "tomorrow" turned out to be one of those unremarkable days when remarkable things come imperceptibly into play.

I've never counted cowering in the face of danger among my numerous faults, but I knew my limitations. I really didn't want to run into Miss Judy Berber, secretary, again, if I could possibly avoid it. Early the next morning I checked out of the hotel and headed across town with the intention of stowing my belongings – now more numerous, as clothes had become a priority again – in a locker at Grand Central. I could stay in any place big enough to hold me.

Along the way, though, I thought better of it and sought out another hotel. If I was determined to shove the monster back into his rightful place, accommodations more typical to humans could only help. The room was pleasant with a view of a little park, but spending too much time in it – alone with my warring desires was not a good idea. I headed back to the library.

The public reading room was one of the few real-world places in which I still felt a degree of comfort. What to read there was another matter. I needed something interesting enough to hold my attention but devoid of any emotional implications that might trigger unwelcome thoughts.

That left out poetry, fiction, history and so much else. Economics was just too dry to divert me very long, and psychology seemed intent on reminding me I was a self-obsessed son-of-a-bitch. _Tell me something I don't know_.

I finally decided on architecture, setting myself the task of differentiating between Dutch-influenced buildings and those designed by German immigrants. Both styles could be found all around Manhattan where a colonial tavern frequented by George Washington might stand between a Beaux-Arts apartment building and a modern 30-story office tower.

I succeeded in staying absorbed in the subject for the entire morning. Looking for examples gave me an excuse to be out and focused on something besides myself, so I spent the rest of that cloudy winter day roaming the city. It was late afternoon when I turned into 15th Street with the idea of checking the Stuyvesant Square area for surviving Dutch houses.

Dusk was drawing in and few people braved the bitter wind that churned off the harbor. Somewhere a piano was playing. _Für Elise_. Just as I steeled myself for the sweetness of the melody to turn sour in my corrupted senses, the song wandered off into unknown territory. It stumbled along for a few measures and then mercifully died.

A little farther along the street, it resumed. The pianist was actually quite skillful with that first part, but again along the way, he seemed to encounter a roadblock and detour off into some musical no-man's-land never explored by Beethoven.

I determined that the source was the basement of a Masonic temple halfway down the block. Like so many buildings that had once served as vital gathering places, it appeared to have fallen into disuse. The windows were grimy and unlit; the doorway a catchall for debris. Well, someone was taking advantage of its shelter.

I was crossing the next intersection, when a fragment of a Rachmoninov concerto trailed me to the other side. I paused, puzzled. How was it that someone who couldn't follow a comparatively simple piece could pound out a respectable few bars of something so incredibly difficult?

I hesitated, but my curiosity seemed to have returned from wherever it had been hiding. I walked back to the temple and moved around to the alley side, leaning against the stone wall near a basement window.

The next offering was a popular tune by Irving Berlin, played quite well. To my surprise it ended without a mishap and before it could remind me of my unworthiness to enjoy the fruits of better men's labors.

It was followed by what sounded like a hymn that inexplicably turned into chopsticks. I felt my mouth curl in an unaccustomed smile as I pushed away from the wall and continued on my way to Stuyvesant Square.

Curious little incidents like that one were part of what made living in New York City so fascinating, more so, say, than holing up in a rat-infested slum and staring at nothing for days on end.

I managed to stay distracted for several more hours before the thirst succeeded in dominating everything. I already had a plan in place. There was an area in Hell's Kitchen where two criminal families had both staked a claim. The situation was bound to erupt in violence at any time, so it seemed a likely spot to find the kind of victim I craved. If not, I had several backup plans in mind.

I deliberately paced myself, not allowing the monster to take control just yet. If he had his way, I'd be there by now. As always, even in the bitter cold, there were pedestrians on the streets. I measured my steps to theirs, hiding the fierce hunger behind an expression of indifference.

At 23rd Street, I stopped for one of the new red and green lights meant to control traffic. Several people stood nearby but it was a couple across the street who caught my attention.

The young man gazed at the girl next to him adoringly and then kissed her – right there in public. A frisson of wistful envy passed through me, as it often did in these situations, and was gone.

Good to see that love could still bloom in trying times. I couldn't help eavesdropping on their whispered conversation.

"I want the one just under the register. You can't miss it. There's one big diamond with sapphires on either side." An engagement ring? A serious romance then.

"It's as good as yours, kitten. You sure he'll still be there at eleven tomorrow?"

"I told you. He's doing inventory. He'll be there half the night, along with old man Jaffe who don't trust him an inch. Pretty funny, huh? Freddy's too dim to steal the newspaper right off our front doorstep."

"Yeah, well, icing Freddy's gonna be a pleasure, but I still don't like the idea of doing the old guy. Couldn't we wait till he's out of the picture?"

In her head, the girl had decided that her "lover" was every bit as dumb as the ill-fated Freddy, who I took to be her husband.

Not exactly true love, after all. How long was it going to take me to squelch my damnable romantic streak?

The light changed and the couple passed me. I ignored them but lingered on the opposite corner, still tuned to their conversation.

"I told you. That's what makes the set-up so perfect," the girl hissed. "The cops won't look past a regular robbery. Just make sure nobody sees you before high-tailing it back to my place."

I stayed where I was. Could I do this? Could I put off feeding for one more day, when fate had dropped a guaranteed payoff in my hands? The thirst grew increasingly painful with every passing moment, but so did the conviction that this was a test, a dare almost, to see if I could actually take back control of my existence.

The following 24 hours were anything but pleasant. I bounced between buffering myself in crowds of innocent people and fleeing back to my hotel room when the sound of their beating hearts almost drove me mad. I paced. I grumbled.

In the afternoon, I went out again to 4th Ave, where I found a book on the Tudors at The Strand. Henry VIII seemed a safe enough subject for my attention. Not much sentimental about him. For sheer self-indulgence he even had me beat, changing the laws of God and man to further his own ends.

I read most of it right in the store. I liked it there, surrounded by the wisdom of so many people, none of whom were around to judge me. Henry continued his megalomaniacal campaign to produce a legitimate male heir to the throne, all the while overlooking what was right in front of him – the little girl who would become England's greatest monarch.

Finally, it dawned on me that I was overlooking something too. All this talk of beheadings – the images that brought to mind – was making the thirst even worse. I returned to my hotel room, and threw all my physical energy into keeping myself from breaking something.

But I made it.

When 10:30 rolled around, I was in the diamond district. Jaffe's Fine Jewelry wasn't hard to locate. I'd seen it clearly in the scheming couple's minds and was pleased to find it had a backdoor. The lights were on. The intermittent conversation between an older and younger man came to me loud and clear, as they went about their business.

I caught the familiar thought processes of the man from last night as he approached. He seemed to have gotten over his doubts, fingering the gun in his pocket eagerly as he decided to take out the owner first, so he could gloat to Freddy that "Shirley" was all his from now on.

_Only till you hand over the loot_, I predicted cynically. As I'd guessed, he'd opted against blasting his way through the front door and soon came creeping around the corner. For a kill, it was strikingly uneventful. I caught him before he even knew what was happening. No scream.

The monster freed was a model of efficiency, and I reaped the rewards, slipping safely into a frenzied, yet leisurely oblivion in the privacy of the dark alley. The relief was over-whelming. I'd almost forgotten what it felt like to have my thirst fully satisfied.

Walking back to the hotel, I considered the other prize that had been won tonight. Thirteen days. A small step, but not an easy one to take. For one whimsical second I wished there was someone I could tell, someone who would care about my modest victory.

Well, there wasn't and likely never would be. If I wanted a pat on the back, I'd just have to give it to myself.

Clearly, those psychologists knew what they were talking about.


	24. Evelyn

Chapter 24

Evelyn

A few days later, I was on Second Avenue, when two things happened. The sky opened up, releasing a deluge of pounding rain, and between the thunder I heard it again. That odd music that was by turns lovely and clumsy.

I headed for the source and this time let myself in a basement window of the Masonic temple, reasoning that curiosity was better for my turbulent psyche than brooding.

The basement proper opened onto the back of a small auditorium, empty except for a lone figure sitting at the piano on the stage. A girl! That surprised me, though I wasn't certain why it should. She was facing away from me, long ashy blonde curls, tamed by a trio of ribbons, hanging nearly to her waist, her back ramrod straight.

I settled into a seat on the aisle and stretched out my legs. She wouldn't spot me back here in the darkness. I could relax and let the sweet, broken music wash over me, even though there were moments when I tensed, wondering if she would get through the next transition without a hitch.

Sometimes, too, I realized my fingers were picking out the notes against my leg, as if they'd never abandoned their humanity for more bloody tasks.

Bach was causing her trouble today and she shifted to Haydn with a great deal more confidence. It surprised me when halfway through the _Andante_, she stopped. I hadn't heard one false note.

"You don't have to applaud, but it's rude not to say anything at all."

Startled, I straightened in my seat. The remark had to be meant for me. So much for my skills as a stealthy predator. "I'm sorry," I called toward the stage. "I didn't think you knew anyone was here."

"People like me can tell. I'm not certain how. Our senses are sharper than normal. Perhaps I just felt your presence or even smelled you."

I rose automatically, as a gentleman should when talking to a lady. But what kind of lady? Was she saying she was like me?

I took a few steps down the aisle and drew in a deep breath. No. No, of course not. A light, warm floral smell assaulted my throat. Very human. And painful. I went back to taking shallow breaths, just so I could talk. "You should really be more careful. Anyone could get in here."

The girl shrugged her slender shoulders, still not turning around. "So many people have nowhere to go these days. It would be cruel to begrudge anyone a place to get out of the horrid weather."

"I didn't come in because of the storm. I was attracted to your playing." There it was again, one of my rare forays into truth and it sounded – even to me – like a facile lie. "You play with a great deal of . . . of emotion. It shows in your performance."

"You mean until I run out of notes?" She sounded chagrinned but pleased as well.

"Well, you don't have any sheet music." What was meant to be sympathetic sounded slightly imbecilic. I'd been too long without normal conversation.

"I really doubt it would improve my performance," she said with a laugh.

I'd reached the four steps leading up to the stage, and I could see her now in profile. A pretty girl of about my own age, her eyes downcast toward the hands resting quietly in her lap. She seemed to be waiting for something, and suddenly . . . belatedly I realized what it was.

"You're blind," I said, in the second incidence of stating the obvious inside a minute. "Please . . . forgive me."

"Oh, I'm almost certain it isn't your fault," she said, still with good humor. "An accident of birth, they tell me."

"But I should have known. It was unforgivably clumsy of me. Would you mind if we started the introductions over again?"

"That seems fair. You shall avoid a social faux pas, and I promise not to tell you how rude you are."

"Thank you. My name is Edward Masen. I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance."

"How do you do, Mr. Masen. I'm Evelyn Weiss. It's lovely to meet you. You can come closer if you want to."

"No, I don't think so. You really need to be more cautious around strangers, Miss Weiss." I sat down on the top step. "Monsters may come out of the rain as well as harmless people."

"Are there a lot of those about, do you think?" She brought her hands to the keys again and began practicing scales.

"More than you know. How did you come here? Did someone bring you?"

"I walked on my own two good feet, if you must know. My father and I have rooms in the next block. He used to insist on accompanying me when I first started coming here, but he's often confined to his bed these days. I finally prevailed upon him to let me come alone, and it's not difficult at all."

It sounded like a very unwise idea, but I didn't say so, reluctant to antagonize the first interesting human I'd met in ages. "You don't have a piano where you live?"

"In our proper house, I do. That's up in Danbury, but we've been in New York for months now. We came to be near Papa's doctor and the hospital. His heart is very weak."

"And your mother?"

"She died seven years ago giving birth to my little brother, Lawrence. He's back at home with my aunt and uncle. I miss him very much."

"That must be hard for you." Her thoughts were clear – she missed her home, the rest of her family, her music, but she was devoted to her remaining parent, who was, it seemed, a dying man.

"Oh, I don't mind, but when Papa found out about this place – that no one was using it, he arranged for me to have a key, so I could play twice a week. It's wonderful, but frustrating as well. Obviously, I play by ear, but it's been so long since I've been able to listen to music that I'm afraid I just bumble along. Do you play, Mr. Masen?"

"Not since I was a boy – a long time ago." How strange to think I had something in common with this girl. I could read notation but always preferred the freedom of the music in my head. I'd been told it was a rather rare talent.

"Come now. It can't have been all that long ago. How old are you anyway?"

"Seventeen," I said automatically, while calculating that it had been nearly 15 years since I'd played the piano as a child.

"I'll be nineteen on my next birthday. I'm surprised, if you have an affection for music, that you'd want to sit through my poor efforts."

"I enjoyed it," I said sincerely. "I like your . . . persistence."

"That's very kind of you, but somehow I can't imagine 18th century Salzburg going mad for Mozart's 'persistence,' not that I have anything as ambitious in mind as a professional career. I should like to teach someday, though – blind children, sighted children, just as a way of sharing the pleasure."

She continued to run the scales, seemingly at ease with my presence. It occurred to me that she must be nearly as lonely as myself, shut away from society in her own peculiar circumstance.

I was surprised to find my curiosity, largely missing these last months, quickening at this rare interchange. "What you said before – about not being able to listen to music – why is that?"

"Dr. Hargrave's orders. He says Papa must have complete peace and quiet – no piano, no radio. He knows best, of course, but I've quite enjoyed getting out and trying to play again. I can remember songs I've played before, but learning something new is such a joy, and I can't seem to do it under the circumstances. I suppose I should just keep practicing my scales."

"Scales are important."

"Yes, and I truly believe my fingers have grown longer since we left Connecticut. I'm quite excited about that, but I'm the one being rude now, going on about myself. What about you, Mr. Masen? What do you do?"

That question again. I'd much prefer she continue with her rudeness, but I was ready for it this time. "I'm a student," I said. "Not in the formal sense, but I read a lot."

"What sort of books?"

"All sorts." That was the truth only in so far as it described my life as it had been before everything had become too much of an effort, everything but letting the monster have his way.

"So you don't know what you want to be when you're grown?"

What an odd concept. As if I was ever going to grow or change or be anything at all but a menace to society. "Not really, no."

"And what do your parents say to that? If they're anything like my father, they have a hard time letting you make decisions on your own."

"I . . . my parents are dead."

She stopped playing abruptly and turned toward me on the bench with a little cry of distress, though I noticed she always looked downward, no doubt to keep from shocking people with the oddness of her eyes. It was a practice I cultivated myself. "Oh, I am sorry! What happened to them?"

"The Spanish Influenza. It took them both quickly."

"But who cared for you?"

"I beg your pardon." For a moment, I flashed on Carlisle. I was getting the truth and my lies completely tangled up. It was what I deserved for thinking I could have an honest conversation with anyone, no matter how sympathetic.

I saw my mistake. Everyone knew the year of the great epidemic. She thought I'd been orphaned as a child of four or five. "I'd prefer not to talk about it," I said, adding cowardice to my other sins.

"Of course. I declare, I don't know what Papa would say if he knew I was asking such personal questions on short acquaintance. Since Mama's been gone, he's felt duty-bound to read books on proper etiquette for young ladies. I'm quite certain he could attend a debutante's ball and never do anything the least bit gauche."

"I doubt that talking to strangers in deserted basements falls within his idea of proper conduct."

"Oh, pshaw! You're the first person my own age I've met in this entire city."

"Still, it might be best if I leave you to your practice."

"Please don't. Unless my clumsiness gets on your nerves."

How could I explain that it was the very imperfection of her playing that made it acceptable to me? Or that her determination in doing something so difficult touched a part of me I could no longer identify. None of it made any sense. "No, of course, it doesn't."

"Well, then, you can stay and protect me from whatever monsters you believe might try to get in here, so that I can get back to playing very badly."

There was something wrong with both parts of that equation, but I didn't argue. She played a couple of pieces flawlessly, then got lost in the middle of a humoresque. When she'd battled her way out the other side, her hand went to a pendant on her blouse. A watch I realized, as she touched it delicately with her finger tips.

"It's time for me to go. I can't have my father worrying." She rose from the piano bench and walked with sure steps to the coat rack at the side of the stage. My first impulse was to help her, but I sensed my attempts at gentlemanly behavior might be misconstrued.

Instead, I stood up and went to the door, waiting while she shrugged into a heavy wool coat. Behind the umbrella she picked up was a slender white cane.

"May I walk you to your house," I asked, as I opened the door. A frigid blast of air swept in from the street, carrying rain and a few scattered bits of paper.

"Oh, my lands, no! If Papa got word I was seen on the street in the company of a young man, he'd never let me out of his sight again."

"But it's getting very dark."

"Not to me, it isn't. It might as well be broad daylight as far as I'm concerned, or did you forget that?"

"I did not. I was thinking of who else might lurk in the darkness."

She took a simple black knit cloche from her pocket and pulled it down over her ears. "Do you know you're a very suspicious person, Mr. Masen?" she said, tucking in a few stray hairs. "I'll be perfectly fine."

And you're not nearly suspicious enough, Miss Weiss, I thought grimly, determined to watch her until she was safely home.

"I come here every Monday and Friday at four. You will come back, won't you?"

"I don't know," I said truthfully.

"But you must. Now that you've frightened me with all this talk of monsters, I won't be able to play a note unless someone's standing guard."

"What makes you think I'd be any match for a monster?"

"I'm not certain," she said, taking the question almost as seriously as I'd meant it. "Your voice is soft, but I have a feeling you're very strong. And don't ask how I know that. It's just one of those extra senses we blind people have. A very good evening to you, Mr. Masen."

I stood out of the way, as she stepped past me. "Miss Weiss."

Her posture was as confident and proud as any woman on the street. The cane flicked out momentarily when she reached the corner, and then she was safely across. About halfway down the next block, she mounted the stoop to a brownstone and disappeared inside.

The interlude had been surprisingly pleasant with its unpredictable attempts at music and casual conversation. Pleasant, because it had felt almost normal. It had felt almost human. In the days that followed, that in itself had me questioning if the whole incident had really happened.

Of course, it had, and I should be glad that it had gone so well, but did I dare try to repeat the experience or was it smarter to leave well enough alone? I decided to examine my motives for selfishness and was quick to find it. This was exactly what I'd been hoping for – proof that I could still interact with a human. Good for me, but what about the girl?

She had no idea what she was dealing with. Still she had asked me to return. A part of me was gratified that anyone anywhere could actually want my company. She'd even cast me in the role of protector, although she clearly thought none was necessary.

That was the problem. The whole encounter had been a lie, no different than the rest of my dealings with humans. If she knew the truth, her only feelings toward me would be horror and hatred.

But she didn't, and I certainly wasn't going to hurt her, so why not use this golden opportunity to practice my human act? I kept going round in circles, and I'd finally decided to put the whole incident behind me. This was shortly before I found myself climbing back through the window of the assembly hall just after four o'clock on Monday afternoon.

I tried my best not to be quiet as I entered the auditorium, partly out of a desire not to frighten Evelyn Weiss and partly, to keep myself from changing my mind and stealing out before she knew I was there.

"Is that you, Mr. Masen," she called, already intent on her scales. "Or just one of the many fearful fiends who prowl our streets?"

There was no right answer to that question, so I ignored it. "Good afternoon, Miss Weiss. May I inquire into your father's health?"

"That's very kind of you. He is a bit up and down," she said, focusing on her finger work. There was no point in turning to face me, and I decided that was one of the things that appealed to me about our meeting.

"I am so grateful for Dr. Hargrave. He's kept Papa alive and relatively comfortable long past the time the doctors at home had predicted, but every morning when I wake up, I'm so afraid that he will have passed in the night. I'm all nerves until I hear his voice."

"That must be a terrible feeling." I took a seat again on the stage by the steps. I had been too ill to comprehend my own parents' deaths, and then came my transformation with its distractions and the discovery that all human memories were fading. The impact would be far more brutal on this delicate girl. "Is there no one else living with you?"

"Oh, yes. We have a wonderful woman – Mrs. Dawes. She's by way of being a housekeeper and a nurse, so when I come here, Papa's not alone. She sits with him while he naps. If anything went wrong, I'd be sent for right away."

"That's good. You can relax and enjoy your time at the piano."

"I could if I only knew what came next." She played a snippet of melody that hit a discordant note. "That's just not right."

"G sharp," I said without thinking.

Her next attempt met with more success. "Yes, that was the problem." She stopped short and cocked her head toward me. "You knew that?'

"I guessed that."

"Hmm." She didn't expand on that remark, and the hour and a half passed pleasantly enough. We spoke mostly about the music. At one point, she lamented not remembering the bridge to a song she mostly knew. I knew it too, and felt a little selfish for not helping her, finally resorting to humming the part she'd forgotten.

"Yes, that's it!" she exclaimed, quickly translating the notes to the piano keys. It was so easy to turn her frustration to joy, which wasn't why I continued to do it several times over the next couple of weeks. Clearly I was doing it because it gave me a gratification I hadn't known in a long time, the pleasure of seeing someone respond to me favorably.

"I think you should call me by my first name," she announced one afternoon. "We're the only friends of our own age we have, after all. May I call you Edward?"

"If you like."

"Good. Then, Edward, would you please tell me what I'm doing wrong with this passage. It sounds dreadful."

"I'm afraid I don't know how to hum in chords."

"But I wager you know what it's supposed to be. Won't you come over here and show me?"

This is what my selfishness had gotten me. Showing off just enough to gain her approval was leading me to places I didn't want to go. Still, I found myself getting up and crossing the stage to stand behind her. "It's like this," I said, playing the chord myself.

"Show me."

I knew what that meant. After a moment's hesitation, I took her left hand and placed her fingers on the keys. "There – two octaves down."

"You're wearing gloves. You can't play the piano wearing gloves."

"I'm not playing the piano, remember? You are."

"Hmm," she said enigmatically. "But why do you have your gloves on?"

"Because I'm cold. Are you going to play the song or not?"

"I'm trying, but for goodness sake, sit down. I'm not going to bite you."

Apparently, we'd both made the same resolution.

With reluctance, I took my place beside her on the piano bench. This was far closer than I ever allowed myself to be with humans, but as she resumed her playing, I relaxed a little. It wasn't as hard as I'd thought it would be. My shallow breaths kept her scent at bay, and I was soon as engrossed in the music as she was, making suggestions only when her efforts approached frustration.

She made it through the song at last with a light sure touch and clapped her hands in delight. "We did it! I have the notes in my head now, and I shant let them go. Oh, Edward, of all the friends I could have made in New York City, you're the very best."

"Anyone can learn notes," I said, dismissively, "but how you express them comes from inside you. Most wouldn't do it as well as you do."

"Well, at least accept credit for giving me some confidence. I'm certain I would have given up by now, if it wasn't for you."

It was pleasant to think I might have influenced someone in a good way for a change, but I pushed the compliment aside. "It's time for you to go."

"I suppose it is," she sighed and angled herself toward me on the bench. "I wonder if I might ask you something. It will sound terribly presumptuous, but it's a liberty sometimes afforded the blind. May I touch your face? That's the only way I have of knowing what you look like, and it seems friends should know these things."

I stiffened. "No. I'd prefer that you didn't. I'm sorry."

"Oh!"

It was obviously not the answer she'd expected, but it was certainly the only one I could give her. The thought of her fingers exploring the hard, cold contours of my face, the look of horror as she shrank away from me, was too depressing to contemplate.

"Oh," she said again, more thoughtfully this time. "I see. Well, never mind. You have a very distinctive voice. I'll have no trouble identifying you from that."

Our parting was awkward that day. I'd hurt her by rebuffing what she regarded as a harmless request. Worse, I could read the conclusions she'd drawn in her mind, along with the embarrassment and pity they invoked.

She assumed I was hiding some deformity repellant to ordinary people. Smart girl, Evelyn Weiss. That it didn't necessarily show was beside the point.

What stirred guilt in me was where that train of thought led her next. She thought her blindness was the attraction, that I chose to spend time with her merely because she wouldn't flinch at the sight of me. I couldn't very well argue with her unspoken thoughts, and I feared our easy rapport might be a thing of the past.

I needn't have worried.

When next I saw her she greeted me with enthusiasm. "Edward, I heard the most exquisite piece of music the other night! I think it must be Beethoven, but it was new to me."

"Where did you hear it?" I asked, resuming my customary seat on the edge of the stage.

"Papa and I went to dine with his attorney on Saturday. Mr. Bishop handles all his affairs, and I suppose he must be rather good at it, since Papa keeps assuring me I'll have all the money I need when he's gone. I hate it when he talks like that, but I suppose it makes him feel better with so many others losing everything.

"Anyway, Mr. Bishop is an old dear. He always sends his car for us and arranges for a lovely meal, but his sister drives me to distraction. She treats me like an invalid or an idiot child. 'Miss Weiss, do watch your step. Miss Weiss, there's a small table just to your left. Miss Weiss, would you like me to cut the veal for you?'"

I smiled at her overweening tone, but of course she didn't know that.

"I'm sure she means well, but it's so suffocating. I like the way you don't patronize me."

"If that's the case, then you won't mind getting back to the point. Tell me about the music."

"Oh, yes. Someone was playing it in a nearby apartment when we left. It was ever so melancholy, but incredibly beautiful, and it didn't sound as if it would be very hard to play."

I pursed my lips, thinking for a moment. "Are you familiar with his sonata #8?"

"I think so. Isn't this it?" She found her place on the keyboard and did a credible job of playing the first few bars.

"Yes, but that's the first movement. I suspect it's the second you're talking about." I proceeded to hum the opening melody.

"That's the one! Can you help me play it?"

"Some of it, but, of course, there's more complexity later on." An idea suddenly occurred to me. Why I hadn't thought of it earlier? I didn't know, or perhaps I did, at that.

Until recently, I struggled every time with the decision to come back here, always giving in against my better judgment. None of the troublesome complications I'd feared had arisen, however. I knew there'd be another meeting.

"If you can be a bit patient, I'll bring something to help you on Friday. It will be better than my humming, trust me."

"Oh, I love surprises! I shall be content to play what I already know today. That should give your ears a welcome rest."

Oddly, although it was her imperfection as a pianist that had originally drawn me, I was beginning to enjoy the pieces she played well, maybe because they gave her such satisfaction. Often my fingers moved of their own volition, as if eager to return to the piano. That would be a colossal mistake, I was convinced. Longing to reproduce something beautiful only to butcher it instead would be the final blow to any charitable opinion I might be trying to form of myself.

"Edward," she asked, in the middle of a simple country song she knew well, "Do you have a sweetheart?"

Not a question I expected. "No."

I was relieved when she didn't pursue the subject, but a few minutes later she said, "Are you good at keeping secrets?"

Much easier question. "Quite good."

"My, my. I think that's the first time you've said anything nice about yourself." Her mind was buzzing with thoughts that didn't quite make sense to me. "I've been bursting to tell someone, but it's a secret you must not share with a soul. Promise?"

Who did I have to tell? "I promise."

She'd abandoned the keys now, turning on the bench to face me. "I have a secret beau! He's the most marvelous artist, and I believe he's truly smitten with me."

"Wait!" I instinctively threw up a hand she couldn't see. "I don't understand. I thought you said you didn't know anyone your own age here."

"He isn't. He's nearly thirty, but age shouldn't matter when you're in love, don't you agree?"

I was clearly the last person to ask about matters of the heart. However, I was, by her own admission, suspicious by nature and this story didn't fit with what I knew about her life here. "How do you know he's a marvelous artist?"

"What? Oh, you mean because I can't see his work myself? As a matter of fact, my father told me."

"And he approves of this match?"

"No. I mean, he doesn't know about it. Papa's the one who can't find out the secret."

"Why not?"

"Well, because he wouldn't approve . . . only because he doesn't understand, and in order to make him understand, I'd have to tell him things he might find worrisome, which of course I dare not do when he's so ill."

"I find it somewhat confusing myself."

"Let me tell it from the beginning, then." She looked pleased at the prospect, the color high in her cheeks. "It started last fall. One beautiful day Papa was feeling energetic, so the two of us went for a walk in Battery Park. Several artists were making sketches of passersby. We'd stop and my father would describe the scene to me.

"A little girl was posing in a chair, right there on the sidewalk, while a very clever young man made her likeness in pastel chalk. Papa said he'd captured, not just her features, but something mischievous in her character as well and that he'd quite like to have my portrait done to hang in his room.

"So I sat in the chair next, and Rupert – that's his name Rupert French – chatted with me the whole time. He was very charming. Papa said the drawing he did was as fine and true-to-life as the little girl's. He paid for it, and we brought it home. I thought no more on the subject, but a few days later, who should come to our door but Mr. French!

"He said he hadn't been able to get me out of his thoughts, that he found me one of the most interesting models he'd ever had and that he regretted not making a second portrait of me to keep for himself."

"What did your father say to these compliments?"

"As it happened, Papa wasn't there. Back then he could still go on his own to Dr. Hargrave's office at the hospital every Tuesday and Thursday."

"And Mrs. Dawes?"

"She was out doing the shopping. Edward, you ask the strangest questions. They're all irrelevant. The point is that I'm being courted by a very interesting gentleman, and I've never had that before. It's terribly exciting."

"How did he know where you live?"

"Well . . . I suppose. . . Honestly, Edward what difference does it make? I assume a young man intent on pursuing a lady would use every means at his disposal to find her again."

Clearly, she'd cast herself in the role of romantic heroine and was pouring her heart into the story, as she did with her music.

"I hope you didn't invite him in."

"Of course, I didn't. We simply talked on the stoop that day and several times afterwards. He's had the most fascinating life, living in all kinds of exotic places. Painting is his heart's desire. I just know it will make him famous one day."

She took a breath, and continued in a more dramatic tone. "Then something terrible happened. Mrs. Dawes came back early from her shopping and caught us laughing together. I was very cross with her when she told Papa, although she's not a nosey-parker by nature, and she is in his employ. I suppose she felt it was her duty.

"When he questioned me about it, I told him it was the wonderful artist who'd drawn my portrait. I thought he'd be pleased, but he said we knew nothing about him and I shouldn't be in if he called. I know he's old-fashioned and very protective of me, but don't you find that a bit narrow-minded?"

I searched for a diplomatic reply. On the one hand, my cynicism told me these impromptu visits were awfully convenient in their timing. One would be tempted to think this French had observed the comings and goings of the household. And just how did he learn the address of a nameless customer in the park?

Evelyn looked so delighted at having a suitor that I hated the thought of infecting her with my own suspicions. She was certainly worthy of a man's attention, and if this one was sincere, I'd be a cad to spoil it for her. Besides, she clearly expected me to take her side in the matter. If I didn't, I risked seeming as hopelessly stuffy as her father and losing her confidence.

"It's never a good idea for anyone to place trust in a stranger." That seemed a generalized enough statement to keep from offending her.

"Well, that's certainly funny coming from you, Edward. I know very little about you, after all, but I trust that you're a worthy friend."

She'd just made my argument for me, and I could do nothing to point that out. "But you stopped seeing him?"

"Yes," she said, drawing the word out coyly. "Instead, he began to send me notes, very sweet ones, and I replied. Papa hadn't said anything about corresponding with him, after all. I just have to be very careful to meet the postman when he comes, so Mrs. Dawes doesn't see the envelopes."

"Wait," I interrupted. "Who reads these messages to you?"

"I read them myself! Rupert is so resourceful. He uses a very small brush and very thick paint on smooth paper. The letters are raised, so I can trace them with my fingertips. Don't you think that shows a certain . . . determination?"

"I do, yes."

"Oh, but that's not the best part. He's asked me to visit him at his studio. Isn't that thrilling?"

The question was rendered blessedly rhetorical by her rush to continue. "The reason I decided to tell you about Rupert today is that I won't be here on Monday. That's the only time that Papa won't find it suspicious if I go out. I'm to sit for a proper portrait."

"I doubt that can be done in one sitting."

"No, but Rupert's very clever. He has a camera and plans to photograph me so that he can work on the picture when we're not together. He's already promised to be a perfect gentleman. I'll tell you all about it on Friday."

You won't have to, I thought darkly, as we parted. Evelyn knew perfectly well her plan was foolhardy. I could read that in her thoughts, but also how exciting it was, for someone whose life had been so sheltered, to stray outside the bounds. Fortunately, she would have a safety net that she wouldn't know was there.

It's quite easy to find out where someone lives if you have no scruples. I suspected French had none, and I knew I didn't. When Evelyn knocked on his door Monday afternoon, I was already on a nearby fire escape with a clear view of the studio windows.

He was dressed casually in a shirt with its sleeves rolled up and trousers with suspenders. No jacket, but he was an artist after all. His dark hair was longer than the fashion, another bohemian touch that was to be expected. His enthusiasm was genuine when he answered the door, taking Evelyn's coat, guiding her to one of two chairs that had obviously been cleaned off for her visit.

The rest of the room was cluttered. Dozens of canvases leaned against the walls in various stages of completion. Well, he was certainly prolific, I'd give him that. Many were turned away from me, but they seemed to be predominately portraits.

I was intrigued to see two rather fine prints of notable paintings among them, one an early19th century landscape, the other an abstract of the kind that was lately taking New York by storm. So he was serious about his chosen profession; that was encouraging.

I scanned his thoughts, searching for some hidden agenda, but he seemed intent on making his guest comfortable. Evelyn was decidedly nervous though she did her best to hide it. She was worrying about her appearance and – I was relieved to note – just a bit about whether his intentions were honorable.

French brought tea to the little table between them, asked after her father and made her laugh with amusing stories of other artists he'd met in his travels. She needed that, I thought. Her home had to be a solemn place these days, and my companionship was not likely to lighten anyone's mood.

She was quite relaxed when he rose and moved his chair to the center of the room, inviting her to make herself comfortable there while he positioned an array of electric lights to best advantage. When he arranged his easel to begin sketching, she smoothed her hair, nervous again.

"It looks lovely," he assured her. "Now I want you to pose in whatever way feels right to you. There's no need to be formal. It's your natural beauty I want to capture."

I knew what she was fretting about before she said it. "My eyes." It was scarcely more than a whisper. "I don't . . . would it be all right if I look down?" I'd never seen self-consciousness in her before and it touched me in what I would have thought was my heart if I didn't know that organ was stone dead.

"Nothing could be prettier than your lashes against your cheek like that," French reassured her, gently, and she blushed.

Once he began sketching, his gregariousness vanished. His mind seemed to go to another place, free of thought, focused only on what he was creating. I recognized that place. I used to go there myself when I was lost in composing some never-before-heard music at the piano.

He was definitely talented. In less than an hour he had sketched a young woman who was obviously inexperienced, yet filled with an inner strength that shone through even her modest pose. Afterwards he took several photographs and helped her on with her coat.

"I'm not giving up," Evelyn said, her face flushed with excitement. "I shall persuade Papa to let you come in at least for a short visit. How can he possibly see any harm in that?"

"How indeed. You make every prospect seem delightful," French said, kissing her hand in farewell.

He accompanied her down to the street and I accompanied her home, though she wasn't aware of it. Perhaps I was allowing my paranoia, essential to a creature like myself, to extend where it didn't belong. French had been true to his word, behaving like a gentleman. I'd sensed no nefarious motives underlying his actions.

He seemed as excited about their rendezvous as Evelyn was. The unease that nagged at me had to rise from my own limitations, the knowledge that such ordinary human experiences, such as mutual attraction, were forever out of my reach.

On Friday, I arrived at the temple first, observing the sure way Evelyn entered and mounted the steps to the stage, going directly to the coat rack to deposit her things. "You're early," she said as she turned toward the piano. I was surprised to see a small frown puckering her brows.

"How was your visit with Mr. French?"

Her face cleared and she began a spirited retelling of the things I already knew. "I promised him I'd speak to Papa again on his behalf, and I did." The frown was back again.

"He wasn't receptive?"

"Well, he didn't say, 'no.' He said he needed a few days to think about it, but I can't see why. I only asked that he agree to a brief visit with Rupert. I'm sure if he does, he'll see that all artists aren't the wild bohemians he supposes them to be." She sighed as she took her place on the bench. "The waiting is just so terribly tedious."

"I may have something to take your mind off the tedium," I said. Moving behind the piano, I lifted the needle and lowered it gently onto the record. The first notes of _La Pathetique_ rolled out into the room.

Evelyn gasped. She sat for a moment entranced. "A Victrola?

"Better," I assured her. "An electric phonograph. You don't have to crank it."

"But that's too much, Edward! You shouldn't –"

"It cost less than a nourishing meal. They're going for nothing these days, since records are no longer manufactured. They say the crash marked the end of the electronic music industry."

"I don't believe that," she said heatedly. "People will always need music."

"Radio amplifies the sound, so in that sense it is better."

"But you can't choose what to listen to on the radio," she argued. "This is the piece I most wanted to hear."

"There are others," I said, pleased that I'd taken her mind off her troubles. "I brought several recordings I'm certain you'll like, and we can always get more. Of course, you'll have to listen to them here, where they won't disturb your father."

She was so eager to listen, that she didn't touch the piano at all that afternoon. I sat nearby and found myself letting the sound move me in a way that I hadn't felt in a long time. Perhaps because it was Evelyn's music, meant for her, it didn't carry that sense of rebuke I'd imagined lately in anything beautiful that crossed my path.

When we'd parted, I held those melodies in my head, going over them time and again, conscious that my fingers longed to bring them to life. The piano sat there in the basement, forgotten and unused until Evelyn came to give it voice.

There was nothing to stop me sneaking in there, giving myself a turn at the keyboard, but I was sure if I did, the notes would be warped, twisted in some unconscious way that defamed the composer's intent.

Instead, I went to 33rd St. to see how the skyscraper was coming along. Everything else in the city still seemed frozen in its pre-Depression state, but this building kept growing. It was several stories higher now than it had been when I last visited less than two weeks ago. Nothing, it seemed, could stop it.

I made my way to the top and saw an entirely fresh view. Everything was the same and yet entirely different from this new perspective. I wondered if that was intentional, if the people behind the project saw it as a symbol for the future, undeniable proof that it was possible to move forward again.

Some kind of inspiration was needed. All around me spots of orange lit up the dark streets – fires to warm the newly homeless. Did they even have enough to eat? Something was seriously skewed in a world where only monsters like me had no trouble finding food.

The thought prompted me to count back the days since I had last hunted. With surprise, I realized it had been eleven days. I'd been so preoccupied with Evelyn's problems and finding a way to put her in touch with the music she craved, that I hadn't even noticed. Carlisle had said we're an easily distracted species, and he must have been right.

I couldn't help feeling a little smug that the monster hadn't had his way for once, not that I deserved any credit for subduing him. It had been entirely accidental on my part, but there is something competitive in my nature and who else did I have to compete against? I wondered if I could hold out, denying him for those crucial three days.

Now that I thought about it, I was definitely getting thirsty, but I'd made it this far. I'd managed to be close to a human for hours on end without harming her and to a piano without giving into the temptation to play. What counted was to keep testing myself where I was most vulnerable.

The first step was distraction. I flexed my fingers, placing them on the beam that jutted out in front of me, and pounded out a silent, but damned near flawless, Polonaise in A Major, while the traffic moved noisily below.

I hoped that matters might have resolved themselves when we met the following Monday, but Evelyn hadn't touched the piano or the phonograph when I arrived. Instead, she was pacing restlessly across the stage.

"Actually, I'm right on time," I said, accidently refuting her unspoken complaint that I was late.

She didn't notice. "Oh, Edward, I'm so glad you're here. I really need to talk to you. Terrible things are happening."

"Is it your father?" I sat down on the stage, while she continued to fidget.

"Not in the way you mean. Remember, I told you he wanted to think about whether I should be allowed to see Rupert? Well, apparently he was up to more than just thinking, and now I don't know what's going to happen."

"Evelyn, sit." I hadn't meant it to sound so much like a command, but she obeyed instantly, settling onto the piano bench and drawing a calming breath. "Now, tell me."

"Papa's lawyer came to call last night after supper. They spoke privately in the parlour, and when he left, Papa said we needed to have a serious talk. Apparently, he'd asked Mr. Bishop to make certain inquiries about Rupert.

"He knows people – Mr. Bishop, I mean – detectives or policemen or the like, people who investigate things. He said there was reason to suspect Rupert may have been involved in something illegal, perhaps in Europe, that he was a fraud."

"What kind of thing?" I said, frowning.

"He wouldn't say. I'm not sure he even knows. He only said I was positively to have no contact with Rupert. I think he may suspect we've been writing to each other. Fraud – what can that mean? Rupert's never pretended to be anything other than what he is, a struggling artist, and there's no pretense about that. Papa was the first to point out how talented he is."

I had tried hard to repress my cynicism, wanting this to work out for Evelyn, wanting something to be the way it should in this bleak world, but now my doubts came back full force. "Be patient," I said. "Give the people who care about you time to discover the truth."

"But that's not the worst part! I'm going to do as Papa says. I am, but I had to explain to Rupert why he wouldn't be hearing from me for a while. I sent one last note just saying Papa had heard something that increased his misgivings about us. As soon as he received it, he found a telephone and called our house.

"He said if Papa will believe any baseless rumor, it only proves he's hopelessly prejudiced against our being together, that he's never going to give Rupert a fair chance. Edward, he wants me to run away with him. He wants us to get married!"

There it went, my last effort to give this man the benefit of the doubt in the name of love or idealism or simply common decency.

"You're not going to do that," I growled, glad she couldn't see my fists clenching involuntarily.

"No, of course, I'm not. I'm blind, Edward, not wicked. I would never do anything so devastating to Papa, but what _am_ I to do? It all seems so blatantly unfair. What if Rupert and I are meant to be together – what if this is my one chance at finding love?"

I was relieved to see she hadn't lost her strength of character. "Think of it this way," I said forcing my voice into a reasonable tone, "if there is something disreputable in Rupert's past, it's best to know about it now, and if the suspicions prove groundless, it will set your father's mind at ease about him once and for all. Your only choice is to be patient for a little while longer."

She sighed. "I know you're right. Sometimes it's hard to believe you're younger than I am. I wish my father could meet you."

Good God, left to her own devices this girl would definitely put the poor man in his grave. "I brought the Dvorak humoresque you were attempting. Why don't we listen to it, so you can learn the part you're missing?"

I did it to distract us both. It worked on Evelyn. She became engrossed in the recording and spent the rest of our time together mastering the difficult passage.

I was seething inside. It came to me suddenly, what had bothered me about the scene in French's studio. For the first time, I couldn't wait for our rendezvous to be over. I might council patience, but I don't always have a great deal of it myself.

As soon as we parted, I rushed to my observation place of a week ago. The timing was fortunate. French was just coming out. I watched until he'd disappeared in the distance, and then found my way inside.

It took only seconds for me to find what I was looking for – the landscape I'd noticed on my last visit. I'd recognized Constable's work and assumed it was a print. Even before I pulled out my lighter to take a closer look, I could feel the brushstrokes beneath my fingers, but it was the other painting that had caught my eye, the contemporary one, that should have told me the truth immediately.

I pulled it out now. I'd seen its twin or at least another in the same series no more than a year ago when a prominent collector had displayed it for a few of his friends at a Madison Avenue gallery. He'd had it sent over from Europe along with several others by an artist he considered vital to the modern movement. The name came back to me as I recognized it scrawled in the bottom corner – Kandinsky.

There was no way a relatively new work, still only in a private collection could have spawned reproductions. I stood there looking from one picture to the other, so faithful to their originals, so absolutely different from each other. French might not have an ounce of originality but his genius as a mimic was extraordinary. The question was, what was he doing with it?

I tried to tell myself it might be just an exercise to him, emulating artists he admired in an effort to find his own style. I didn't believe it for a second. Not when the word "fraud" was being attached to his name, not when he was so adamantly pursing a young girl about to come into a good sum of money, not when that girl was conveniently unable to see anything he painted.

My first impulse was to stay there and beat the truth out of him or terrify him into fleeing the country. If I thought I could do it as a human, I would dearly love to do one or both, but I couldn't fool myself. There was no way, once I allowed my anger to surface, that he wouldn't see what I really was, and that was the one line my kind did not cross.

The only people allowed to know the truth were those in their last moments of life. I couldn't reveal myself to someone I had no intention of killing, not without having one of those Volturi breathing down my neck or, worse, bringing suspicion on innocent bystanders like Evelyn and her father.

So I had to get out of there before French's return made the temptation impossible to resist. That was the easy part. I was on the street again in seconds. Then I had to figure out what to do with the restless energy roiling through my body, eager to ignite into something destructive. It was so much easier telling someone else to be patient than to practice it myself.

A frigid rain had chased almost everyone inside. Hail the size of marbles now and then ricocheted off the pavement, clattering on the roofs of parked cars. The chaos of it suited my mood. Without really thinking about it, I wandered back to the Masonic temple and flattened myself into the shadow of the doorway.

From here I could see the entrance to Evelyn's building, a block and a half away, so if anything did happen, I'd know it. What I was expecting, I'm not sure – French arriving to place a ladder against her window in some clichéd attempt at convincing her to elope with him?

She wouldn't do it.

In all likelihood the whole situation would resolve itself naturally. He'd become discouraged when she continued to refuse to see him, or perhaps he was already making plans to clear out of New York before any of the suspicions about him could be proven. If he was involved in the kind of criminal activity I suspected, he might be arrested within hours. There was really no need for my presence.

But where else did I have to go?


	25. The Last Supper

Chapter 25

The Last Supper

At around 11:30, with the wind now blowing the icy rain almost horizontally through the canyons, a car pulled up near the Weiss's building. The passenger door opened, and an umbrella bloomed as its owner got out and shut the door.

It was hard to tell much about the lone figure, except that I was certain it wasn't Evelyn. This person – man or woman – had none of her proud carriage, walking slightly bent over with no help of a cane, another tenant of her building perhaps.

The car slipped away, and the umbrella bobbed up the stoop. At the same moment, a second figure, separated itself from the shadows and rushed toward the steps. The umbrella flew to the pavement, something arced through the air and one of the figures crumpled to the ground. I closed the distance in seconds, as a shadow flitted into the alley beyond the brownstone, and sank to one knee on the wet sidewalk.

My hand went instinctively to the victim's throat, searching for a pulse. Already, there was none. The man's eyes were wide with shock, his mouth hanging open. His face was careworn with the lines that come with illness more than old age. Rain and blood were quickly darkening the fine white hair that must have made him handsome in life.

In that instant, I knew this had to be Evelyn's father.

I sprang for the alley. My quarry was running, nearing the next block. I took him down from the air and in the same movement swung him up by his coat collar and slammed him into the solid wall of the brownstone. Something broke with a cracking sound. It was not something of mine.

He shrieked with pain. The iron monkey wrench he'd been gripping dropped to the pavement with a loud clang. I pushed him farther up the wall, one hand pinning his throat, while with the other I ripped away the heavy scarf wrapped around his face.

There were the eyes I knew, so much like all the other prey I'd ever cornered – wide with the horror, not just of imminent death, but of the unimagined thing delivering it. And they were set in the face I'd expected to see from the moment I'd realized the identity of his victim.

"She trusted you," I hissed, nearly choking on my own rage.

He was making small desperate sounds, blood and saliva escaping his clinched teeth. "Who –"

I was too far gone to focus on his thoughts. He might have been trying to say "Who are you?" or only "Who?" in response to my accusation; perhaps he'd betrayed too many women to be certain who I meant. I didn't care either way.

My teeth fastened with unerring precision around a carotid artery, my tongue pressed against hot yielding flesh, and I pulled the life force from him with a passion born of conviction, the conviction that this was the most righteous kill I'd ever made.

That, coupled with the fact that I hadn't fed for an unusually long time, quickly disconnected me from any thought whatsoever. I might have stayed lost in the ecstasy of it for a longer time, deaf to the screams pealing down the alleyway, if I hadn't been so attuned to that particular voice.

_Evelyn._

My struggle to regain myself lasted only seconds. Blinking, I wiped my mouth on the remnants of his scarf and tossed the body onto the piles of refuse already filling the shadows with their stench. I sped to the end of the alley and slowed to a human run till I reached Evelyn. She was kneeling over her father, face whiter than mine, her hands fumbling at his chest.

"Don't," I said softly, gently taking her wrists. With my other hand, I closed the old man's eyes and pushed his mouth closed before she could explore his face. "He's gone, Evelyn."

"But what happened? I don't understand?" Her voice was edging toward hysteria. I looked up to see the housekeeper standing in the doorway, rigid with shock.

"Mrs. Dawes, could you please telephone Dr. Hargrave?"

"But he's dead, isn't he," she said shakily. "I mean, so much blood. Oh, sweet Jesus!"

"Yes. There's nothing to be done, but Miss Weiss could use his help. Please."

She recovered herself and hurried inside. I put my arm around Evelyn, who was tracing her fingers over the dead man's face. "Papa insisted on going alone to Mr. Bishop's tonight. I was waiting for him to return when I . . . I heard something and came outside, but there was no one, and then I tripped over . . . over his body." She began to shiver uncontrollably and I forced her to her feet, putting my other arm around her as well. "Who would strike down an old man like that? Why?"

"Shh," I whispered. "I doubt that he felt a thing. It must have been very quick. His last thoughts were undoubtedly comforting ones of coming home to you."

I was lying, of course. The look of terror frozen on her father's face told me he'd known at least for an instant what was happening, but she didn't need to think about that. Hopefully, she'd assume his heart had given out when he was first surprised.

"You need to get inside," I told her, guiding her toward the steps. "The rain can't harm your father now, but you're going to need your strength."

I helped her up the stairs. Mrs. Dawes was just returning and seemed to be over her shock. "Thank you, sir, for your assistance. The doctor's coming right away. Would you come in and have something hot to drink? You're completely drenched."

"If you can prepare a suitable place, I'd like to bring Mr. Weiss inside," I answered, ignoring her invitation.

"Oh, yes, of course. Very kind of you, I'm sure."

She hustled back inside and I led Evelyn through the doorway. It didn't feel right being in her home like this. I couldn't remember when I'd actually entered the dwelling place of a human family, but there was no one else to help.

I set Evelyn in a chair near the hearth, as Mrs. Dawes returned with an old quilt. "Perhaps the oilcloth from the table," I suggested quietly, my eyes flicking toward the kitchen.

Whatever nurses' training she had seemed to surface. She nodded and went to fetch the tablecloth, along with some clean towels which she positioned on the parlour sofa.

I went back outside and picked up the body, carrying it into the house and depositing it gently on the makeshift bier.

"Thank you, Edward," Evelyn said, her voice barely audible. It was the first sign I'd had that she even recognized me.

Mrs. Dawes returned and pressed a cup of hot tea into her shaking hands.

I knelt by her chair. "You're going to be all right," I told her in my most persuasive voice. "You have everything you need to survive this. Your father would want you to go on with the same strength you've lent to him and make a good life for yourself."

She nodded, mechanically. "I have to telephone my aunt and uncle. They'll want to come down."

"That's good. Will you go back to Danbury with them?"

"That's always been the plan. Only I didn't . . . I didn't expect it to be like this." She began to weep, and I moved to the arm of the chair, holding her through the worst of it.

"I have some things I have to take care of," I said when the doorbell announced Dr. Hargrave's arrival. "I suggest he get in touch with the police and Mr. Bishop as well."

Again she nodded, mutely. I rose, inclined my head respectfully to Mrs. Dawes, who was just ushering the new arrival into the parlour, and made my escape from the house.

The authorities needed to be notified, but there was one thing it was important for them not to find – the manner of death. The rain had slowed to a pelting rhythm. When I turned into the alley, there was a clear view of a police paddy wagon sitting at the other end.

Arriving or leaving?

I hurried to the sodden lumps of garbage, kicking them aside, shoving them into new formations before facing the truth.

The body was gone.

I whirled to see that the Black Maria had disappeared as well. Damn the miserable luck! Should I follow it, hope to get a crack at the corpse before it was examined in the light?

Risky.

Instead I concentrated on finding the wrench. When it became obvious that it was gone as well, my tension eased. With a body and a murder weapon, plus the report of the victim nearby, the police would likely concentrate on connecting the two, relieved to have one of the dozens of crimes committed every night neatly solved. Pressure from the public would revolve around a respectable citizen attacked in front of his home – not the vigilante who had rid the city of a monster.

That's what I hoped and as the days went on, I became convinced that's what had happened. Still I stayed far from the neighborhood in case some budding Sherlock Holmes became obsessed with the peculiar condition of the body and began to investigate.

I worried about Evelyn, thinking how rude she must consider me for not paying a condolence call. It _was_ rude, but then I'd never intended to become involved in her personal life or even go to her home. I'd done that, though. I'd been there when it happened, and there was no pretending I hadn't any involvement. Finally, I concentrated on making myself presentable to decent society, added the sunglasses and went to her home.

There was a mourning wreath on the door when I finally got up the courage to ring the bell. I expected it to be answered by Mrs. Dawes, who had some reason to think kindly of me, but instead I was facing a stranger, a dark, pretty woman of about forty with laugh lines at the corner of her eyes. She wasn't laughing now and offered only a terse, "Yes, what is it?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you. I was hoping to offer my condolences to Miss Weiss if she's accepting visitors."

"You're a friend of hers?" she asked with a bit less chill in her voice.

"We've known each other for some months now. My name is Edward Masen." I could only hope Evelyn had mentioned me, but why should she? Her father had gone to his grave not suspecting my existence.

"You're Edward who's been helping her with her piano practice?" She looked perplexed. "But I thought . . . I mean, Evelyn said . . ."

I saw it then in her mind. The expectation that I would be somehow misshapen or scarred and her own rather extravagant opinion that I was "gloriously handsome."

"If she's indisposed, I understand. I'd appreciate your conveying my sympathy and – "

"Oh, forgive me, Mr. Masen. My brother-in-law's passing has not left any of us at our best. I'm Evelyn's aunt, Fiona Teasdale. She's spoken so highly of you these last days. As a matter of fact, she is napping just now, but please, won't you come in."

"Thank you, no. I don't want to intrude."

"Nonsense. I'm really so glad to meet you. I'd like to talk to you a bit, if I may."

There were things I'd like to find out as well, so I followed her into the parlour. The sofa had regained its status as an ordinary piece of furniture. No reminders that it had been the temporary resting place of a murdered man. Most of the walls were bare now, and several packing cases were scattered around the room.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked, "Coffee or tea, sherry perhaps?"

"No, nothing." We sat down in the chairs before the hearth. I felt more the intruder here than I had the night of Mr. Weiss's death. Then I had a purpose. Now I felt the fragility of my façade.

"I want to thank you, Mr. Masen, for befriending my niece. The circumstances were terrible, necessitating us leaving her alone with a man who clearly had such a short time to live, but we had her little brother, Laurie, to care for. It must have been a great comfort to her, finding someone here who would encourage her music."

"She has a genuine feel for it," I said.

"Yes, and I want you to know, my husband and I intend to support her in anything she wants to pursue. Charles–her father–was understandably protective after my sister's death, but I hope to see her out in society, if that's what she wants, and there's a baby grand piano waiting for her."

"She'll like that," I said. "How is she bearing up under all this?"

Mrs. Teasdale smiled a little. "She is such an extraordinary young woman. Of course, she was distraught those first few days, but we've always been close, and once she'd cried herself out, she wanted to talk – about so many things. That's how I learned about you and your friendship. She told you about her . . . suitor?"

"The artist, yes."

Her kindly expression grew grim. "That man was up to no good, I'm convinced of it. The minute Evelyn hinted there were suspicions about him, he vanished. Why would he do that unless he knew there was substance to the rumors? He hasn't so much as written her a note about her father's passing."

"Did that upset her," I asked.

"In a way. She's romantic like most girls her age, but she's nobody's fool. I think she's annoyed with herself for succumbing to his flattery, when he could so blithely let her go. If he turns up here now, I'm quite sure she'll send him packing." Her mouth twitched in an almost smile that brought a dimple to her cheek.

"Speaking of which, I should apologize for the state of things around here. My husband's coming down to take us back to Danbury on Saturday, so I've been packing what I could. I don't mind telling you, I'm anxious to get away from this place, where innocent people can be murdered on their own doorsteps."

"Do the police have any leads," I asked, grateful for the opening.

"Not that I know of. They seem to regard such incidents as the price one pays for living in a large city." She shuddered briefly. "I used to quite enjoy coming to New York, but not now, not with Central Park filled with the homeless and people building fires on street corners just to stay warm. I want to get my niece away from here as soon as possible."

"If I may," I said," starting to rise, "I'd like to stop by before you leave. I have something of Evelyn's that I need to return, and I hoped to tell her goodbye."

"Oh, please do, Mr. Masen," she said, eyes wide with sincerity. "It would mean so much to her."

She saw me to the door and smiled up at me as I prepared to take my leave.  
"Evelyn told me how you happened to come by . . . that night. I do believe you're her knight in shining armor."

I managed a smile in return, while silently despairing of human beings' chronic short-sightedness. It was a wonder we hadn't wiped them off the face of the earth. "Goodbye, Mrs. Teasdale. It was a pleasure meeting you."

So it was that on Friday, I was back on that doorstep, ringing the bell for the second and last time. The door was opened – not by Mrs. Dawes or even Mrs. Teasdale – but Evelyn herself.

"Edward, is that you?" she greeted me excitedly. Her face was pale and noticeably thinner, but genuine enthusiasm filled her voice.

"It is. I come bearing gifts."

"Are they what I hope they are?" Her hands shot out to touch the anonymous package I held in my arms.

"I packed everything as well as I could. The records are in there too, but I wouldn't recommend tossing the box around."

"It will sit beside me on the seat of the automobile all the way back to Danbury, I promise. Please, come in. You can put it right here in the hallway."

I did as she asked, but declined when she invited me into the parlour. "I can only stay a minute. I have an appointment." Just who I could possibly have an appointment with did not figure into my lie. I only knew I wanted this farewell to be as brief as possible.

"Are you sure? I have so much to say to you, although I don't honestly know how. I haven't had the chance to thank you for being here the night Papa died. It all seems like a horrible nightmare that I never would have gotten through if you hadn't come to help."

"I'm so sorry, Evelyn."

She nodded, tight-lipped. "My aunt and uncle are anxious to get me away from here. I must say I feel the same way. For the first time I'm frightened to go out. It's an awful feeling, and the memories . . ." She wrapped her arms around herself, protectively.

"Did Aunt Fiona tell you that Rupert seems to have vanished? Good riddance, I say. He must indeed have some guilty secret to be scared off so easily. Perhaps he was married. I don't know, and I don't want to know any more about him. If he should seek to renew his attentions, I'd just as soon be somewhere far away."

"You deserve better," I said.

She smiled. "You always make me feel so much more hopeful about everything, even myself. I don't know what I'm going to do without you. Aunt Fiona was quite taken with you as well. Please say you'll come to visit us in Danbury."

This part was the hardest. "I don't think so," I said, as gently as possible.

"Oh, but you must! Or perhaps when things are a bit more settled, I can come down on the train. I've never gotten about much in the city, you know, and I have a feeling you'd be the perfect guide."

I hesitated. Still amazed at the words I was about to speak, but knowing they were true. "I won't be staying in New York much longer. I need . . . I want . . . to go back." Not back home, because I wasn't sure there was such a place waiting for me, but just back.

"Oh." She seemed to find the statement almost as surprising as I did. "You've never talked about what you wanted. If that's it, then I'm happy for you. It's just that I should hate to think we might never meet again."

I took her hand in my gloved ones and squeezed it briefly. "That's what memories are for," I said in the tone that always soothed skittish humans.

"Oh, but Edward, I've never properly thanked you for what you did. You helped me to find my music again."

"I believe you have that backwards," I said, hoping she could hear the smile in my voice, "and I am grateful. Be happy, Evelyn."

I walked away then at a brisk, human pace, her rather plaintive "goodbye" echoing after me. In the state she was in even a small loss like that of our companionship could ignite the deeper grief again, and I had no wish to prolong that.

The sense of purpose I felt was so alien, after all these years, that I wondered if it could hold. I know my emotions tend to be volatile. Would they swing back at the first burning thirst or the next despicable excuse for a human being that crossed my path?

I honestly didn't know.

As a child, I'd balked at my parents' occasional references to my stubbornness, but I could see they'd been right. I'd stubbornly resisted Carlisle's efforts to guide me and just as stubbornly ceded all my power to the predatory side of my nature, as the only possible path to fulfillment.

All the violence and blood and death I'd reveled in were nothing but the path of least resistance, a weak man's choice.

Perhaps I could be just as stubborn in rejecting that way of life. I'd have to do it alone this time, which would make it that much harder. Even if I succeeded for weeks, months, years, the struggle would never end.

Decades from now temptation could cross my path in some particularly potent and unexpected way, and all my efforts would be for nothing, every hard-fought victory along the way cancelled out by my basic weakness.

Well, I'd have plenty of time for self-loathing if that happened. For now, I was tired of it. I headed back to 33rd street, waiting for darkness to fall. When it did, I made my way up the indomitable skyscraper, which had grown to an unbelievable 96 stories high, dwarfing even the exquisite Chrysler building. The view was exponentially wider and more far-reaching than it had been on my most recent visit.

It was a good place to contemplate changing perspectives and try to put a name to the ideas roiling in my subconscious that had ended with that startling pronouncement.

Yes, I was sick to death of what I'd become, but it was more than that. There were things I didn't want to let go of, things I'd fight to get back. Although memories of my parents had faded, I had no right to act as if they'd never lived and loved me and set me a good example. If there was an afterlife, did I want their souls looking down on a son who didn't put up a fight against his worst impulses?

I would always be alone, but it didn't mean I had to impact everyone I encountered for the worse. Evelyn had shown me that. I was never again going to be human, but it didn't follow that I should turn my back on the human qualities still left in me. Most of all I needed to regain a modicum of self-respect. Without it I was suffocating.

I had no idea how or whether I could make the necessary changes. I did know it had to start with controlling the monster, and I'd taken a few encouraging steps in that direction. Getting away from the places that had become part of a destructive routine had to be my next priority, followed closely by finding Carlisle.

I needed to apologize to him – not just for the way I'd left, but for how I'd shamelessly used him in my one contact since. And it had to be in person. A letter or telephone call would be the coward's way out – again.

The next day I sent a letter to the hospital where Carlisle had been practicing when I left. I pretended to be an administrator at Mt. Sinai, looking for a consult and inquiring if he was still on the staff. Of course, I was lying, but I had no illusions that I could reform everything about me that needed it.

To my surprise, a reply came back a week later informing me that Dr. Cullen was living in Rochester and working in a hospital there. I withdrew the money from my safety deposit box and gave away most of my clothes to people who looked like they could use them. As with the coffee and doughnuts, there was an ulterior motive. I wanted to travel light on my journey upstate.

I left in the middle of the night. It seemed easier to look back and see only dark shapes studded with light, nothing specific to remind me of things I'd done there, nothing except the spectacular tower that rose above the rest, now with its own colorful beacons to warn approaching aircraft.

As a last sight of New York City, it couldn't have been better. I harbored no bad associations with that building at all, and that couldn't be said of many places in Manhattan. Perhaps it was a good omen.

I headed due north toward the Catskills and the next task I'd set myself in an effort to put distance between the beast within and the part of me that had decided to fight for survival. This would be the hardest challenge yet and one I secretly felt was destined to fail, but I had to give it a try.

To go from an environment defined by crowds and traffic and buildings to a wilderness that had remained essentially unchanged for centuries was a surreal experience. I'd forgotten the silence, the softness, the green.

There were real trees to leap for instead of the metaphorical ones of my imagination. I could have enjoyed just roaming this different landscape, taking in the smells and sounds, if not for the thirst.

I'd pushed it to the limit this time. Part of me reveled in knowing my last meal was provided by that murderous impostor, French. His was the one death that would never bring me the slightest twinge of regret.

My other rationalization for letting the thirst build so long concerned what I was about to do next. I had my doubts that anything short of desperation could persuade me of its appeal.

A brief search revealed a little brook, running fast with spring rain. I took a seat in the branches above and waited. The scent came first and then the rustling of new foliage, followed by the appearance of a Whitetail buck.

It was a beautiful creature, powerfully muscled but delicate in its movements as it approached its goal. I bided my time, allowing him to drink. I know what it's like to be thirsty.

Out of nowhere, something flew across my vision landing solidly on the deer's back with a primal snarl. Antlers twisted, slender legs flailed briefly, and it was all over. I watched stunned as the big cat tore into its prey. So intent had I been on my own personal challenge, I hadn't sensed its presence at all.

For four years I had only to be wary of one animal; now I was reminded there were many. The one before me was magnificent, lethal and beautiful in its ferocity, supple muscles rippling as it devoured its meal. Like me, the mountain lion had been so focused on his prey that it hadn't noticed there was another predator nearby.

I let it finish. No reason the food chain couldn't be orderly. After the meal, it went to the brook to drink and sat washing its face like a giant house cat.

I stood up on the branch and hissed. The big head swung up, zeroing in on me immediately, teeth bared. I hissed again, and it lunged for the tree just as I pushed off and swung myself into another one, then dropped to the ground in a crouch staring into its amber eyes.

The game was on. I'm not sure how long it lasted, I was so fascinated by the way the animal moved, by turns slinking and leaping in response to my taunts, always instinctively opting for the higher ground.

Only my supernatural speed kept it from catching me; only my indestructibility prevented the incredibly powerful swipe it finally landed – the only one any of my victims had ever completed – from tearing my head off.

Finally, I stood perfectly still, fixing it with a stare designed to bring out the worst in any species. The lion's body retracted slowly into a crouch, the great haunches tensed with power, and it launched itself at me with a momentum that would have brought down anything living.

Fortunately, I'm made of sterner stuff. Its body thudded against mine, the huge forepaws landing on my shoulders. My hands shot forward and broke its neck.

As the creature collapsed, I fell to me knees and sank my teeth into its still-pulsing throat. Time slowed. There was no need for hurry in this secluded place. When at last I rocked back, wiping the back of my hand across my mouth, it took a moment for my brain to regain control of my over-stimulated senses.

Bland. Decidedly bland – not all that much different than the deer I'd hunted with Carlisle. As the wine connoisseurs might say, missing some_ je ne sais quoi_. The frenzy was there, the rush of well-being that accompanied an influx of hot blood, but not the all-out ecstasy that accompanied a human kill.

_Not the complications either_, I reminded myself, determined to make the best of this experiment. The thirst was gone. I felt satiated. It was only the prospect of feeling nothing more than this forever that threatened my resolve.

I absolutely couldn't let myself think that way or the vanishing of my resolve would be followed in short order by the loss of my sanity. Best to worry about it one feeding cycle at a time.

On the plus side, I had enjoyed this particular animal hunt more than any in the past. I suspected it was less the meal itself, than the presentation. More challenging, more sporting, more . . . fun. A good point to keep in mind for the future.

As darkness closed in, I resumed my journey, leaving the forest behind. I tried to stick to the countryside, out of temptation's way, but as I drew closer to my destination, another big city, the nerves kicked in. I had no idea what to expect when I saw Carlisle and no right to expect anything but a door slammed in my treacherous face.

If that's what happened, I'd have to accept it, but I was going to do everything I could to get an apology in first. None of my hopes to improve myself would stand a chance if I didn't step up and take responsibility for the mess I'd made.

The address I'd been given was not in the city, but in an outlying wooded area. No surprise there. But the house? That was a surprise. I'd expected an old Victorian like the one he'd lived in before.

The gleaming cube that winked at me from among the trees was pure Bauhaus, with glass brick in place of windows on the street side. It must be bright inside, where no one could see. Cheerful.

And here I came like Banquo's ghost to spoil the atmosphere. I knocked on the door, and the moments before it was opened stretched out like images in a funhouse mirror. Plenty of time to bolt, but I didn't.

The door swung open, and I found myself looking into the eyes of my creator. His clothing, impeccable as usual, was light in color, like the house, the smile that spread slowly across his face, just as bright as I remembered.

"Edward," he said simply.

"Hello, Carlisle." I searched his mind for the kind of who-do-you-think-you-are response I deserved, but found only a profound sense of relief. "I apologize for coming here– unannounced, but I wasn't sure you'd agree to see me. The house," I went on, before he could say anything else, "this house is incredible. How did you find it?"

"We didn't. Esme designed it."

"Esme?" My mission was momentarily forgotten as I tried to process that. When I'd left, Esme had made it through the newborn phase, but she was very quiet and content to concentrate on Carlisle, who obviously adored her.

I did remember her making sketches now and then – of houses, artfully decorated rooms – but I'd never realized she was capable of this. I could feel the pride in Carlisle's thoughts as he watched my reaction.

"She's amazingly talented," he said. "And she's going to be so happy to see you." Before I could stop him, he'd turned his head, calling her name. "Come, see who's here!"

She was there in a flash, clapping her hands to her face and letting out a little cry when she saw me. Her eyes looked huge, and I was sure if she had still been human, there would have been tears in them. "Oh, Edward! I can't believe it." She threw her arms around me. "I've hoped for this every single day since you left!"

Her cheek was against my chest, my nose in her hair. It smelled soft and innocent and loving, like her. I couldn't remember the last time anyone had put their arms around me, and for a moment I relaxed into it, hugging her back.

If only I deserved this kind of reception. It must feel wonderful to be welcomed home by people who loved you. But she had no idea what I'd become. I straightened again. "You're very gifted, Esme," I said. "The house is exquisite."

"Do you really like it?" She beamed up at me. "Most of the people around here think it's a little weird."

"It will grow on them," I assured her. "Truly, it's a work of art."

"I hope you feel the same about the inside," she said sliding her hand down my arm to pull me toward the doorway. "I want your honest opinion now. It's still a work in progress."

I resisted her tugging. "I can't stay. I'm here because I owe you both an apology. The way I acted when I left, not contacting you except to demand money. It was unforgiveable, and I sincerely regret everything I did that hurt you."

"It was your money, Edward," Carlisle said. "You had every right to ask for it, and I knew you'd have to come back eventually."

"You did?"

"Have you forgotten the rest of your legacy – the mementoes your parents left, your mother's jewelry. They're still here waiting for you."

I _had_ forgotten. The little ebony chest that held all that was left of my human existence. Looking at its contents had been too painful after their deaths, but how could I leave them behind as if they'd never mattered?

"Please, come in," Carlisle said, opening the door wider.

Esme must have seen the coming refusal in my face. "I'm just finishing up with something," she said hurriedly. "It will only take a little while, meantime I'll leave you two to talk."

She was lying, of course. "I really can't stay," I repeated, suddenly desperate not to infect them with what I'd become.

"Edward Cullen, don't you dare leave again without saying goodbye. I'll only be a few minutes."

She was gone before I could protest, the name I hadn't used in four years still ringing in my ears.

"I accept your apology, by the way," Carlisle said. "Surely, you can come in long enough to see what she's done with the interior. Esme's always valued your opinion."

"She shouldn't. She doesn't . . . you don't know what I've been doing. If you did, you wouldn't – "

"Wouldn't what?" Carlisle's voice sounded angry, but his thoughts were more complicated than that. "Have you forgotten that I'm the one who put you in this situation? I've been there myself, and I doubt that anything you've done could shock me. Now, please."

There was no way to refuse without adding more insult to injury. I stepped inside. The house had the peculiar quality of seeming larger on the inside, partly, I decided, because of the high ceilings and the tall windows that dominated the far side.

The walls were white, the floors gleaming black linoleum, interrupted by only a few pieces of simple, but comfortable looking furniture. Two steel columns bisected the room. "Plumbing?" I guessed, looking to Carlisle for confirmation.

He nodded. "Form follows function. There's a heating system too – under the floor. She designed it with resale value in mind, for when it's time to move on."

I walked to the back wall which looked out on nothing but woods. Sunlight streamed through the trees. At certain times of day, it would even shine into this room, I thought. Carlisle had come to stand beside me.

"You're wondering if I spent the entire four years in New York."

"Yes." I didn't turn to look at him, but I could hear the smile in his voice. "I'm wondering, but that doesn't mean you have to tell me. Curiosity – the bane of cats and people who used to be human."

"I really don't want to talk about it," I said quietly.

"I wouldn't ask you to."

We were silent for several minutes. This was an incredibly peaceful space. Simple. Tranquil.

"You know, Edward, I've thought a lot about what I did wrong when you were here."

"Don't," I said. "You tried. I wouldn't listen."

"It was naïve, thinking I could spare you the pain by simply telling you how to cope. We each have to take on the worst that's in us and fight for what's worth keeping."

"I can't imagine Esme fighting the desire to kill people," I said, unable to keep the acidity out of my voice, "not after the newborn period."

"Esme's very gentle by nature. She accepts what comes and makes the best of it. Your personality is more . . . complicated."

Well, there was a euphemism, if ever I'd heard one. I rummaged shamelessly through Carlisle's mind to see what ugly truths the word was hiding. I found "headstrong," "analytical," "passionate." I was still searching for "stubborn," but the closest I found was "determined."

"It's a volatile mix to have to deal with when you're struggling to survive. I don't need to know how you did it. What I care about is that you're here right now and you're all right."

"I'm not," I said, shaking my head. "I'm not all right. Things went . . . _I _went too far, and I've been trying to get back again, but I honestly don't know if I can fix it."

His expression remained neutral, but I could sense the sympathy in his thoughts – sympathy – not pity. "Don't you think that's a good reason to be around people who will love you regardless of whether or not you succeed?"

Was that even possible? Could someone still love a person who failed them so flagrantly?

Carlisle could. I could see it in his mind. It was one of his many gifts. Esme's too, I suspected. Perhaps it was a talent peculiar to immortals – some of them anyway. I suddenly couldn't say a word.

"Do you know what's above this room?" Carlisle asked rhetorically. "A studio. It runs the entire length of the house. Esme uses part of it when she's working on a design, but the other half contains a rather spectacularly useless piece of furniture."

My mind was so muddled with unfamiliar emotions that I only now managed to read his. "A piano?" I said. Unless one of them had taken up a new hobby in my absence, neither he nor Esme played. "Why?"

Carlisle frowned thoughtfully, "I believe the appropriate word is 'bait.'"

"We didn't think home-cooking had much of a chance at luring you." Esme added with an impish smile, as she entered the room. "It's not easy catching a vampire."

"That's because you can never trust what they're going to do," I pointed out, only half joking. "And I don't . . . I haven't played the piano for a long time. I don't even know if I can."

"It's an option, not a requirement," Carlisle teased gently, "but I wouldn't discount the possibility, if I were you, given the unreliability of vampires. Will you stay? Just a day or two if that's all you can stand or as long as you like. Your choice. No questions asked."

Put like that, it was hard to refuse what I suddenly wanted very much to do anyway, but the more I felt the pull of emotional attachments – of hope – the more it seemed inevitable that I would find a way to destroy it, hurting them all over again.

Carlisle appeared to be the one reading my mind now. "Just a day. No strings attached."

Small steps. That's all I could trust myself to do. I looked from one to the other and saw nothing but acceptance, a gift I'd never been able to grant myself.

"Yes," I said, and it was almost a whisper. "Yes, I'd like to try."

_As you know, that one day is now almost 80 years in length, for which I'm eternally (and I don't use the term lightly) grateful. Perhaps by the time you've read this, I'll have more information, but I need to know what you think. _

_Am I right?_

A/N: I just wanted to wish a wonderful holiday season to everyone who's stuck with this story and especially those who've encouraged its continuation. All the best in 2011!


	26. Carlisle IV

_**A/N**__: I apologize for the short chapter (holidays, you know), but it's an important one. Happy New Year and welcome to part three of __**Morning**__!_

Book III

Chapter 26

Carlisle IV

I sat staring at the screen for a long time.

The possibility had never once occurred to me. I'm sure it hadn't crossed Edward's mind either.

I scrolled back up to read the pertinent part again, and an odd sensation shivered down my spine, elation and horror so intermixed that no single emotion felt appropriate.

But my response was irrelevant. What mattered was how Edward felt about it, how he would react to the suspicion that second by second seemed more like a revelation to me.

I went over the circumstances in my mind again. It was possible, maybe even likely. Without the turmoil and distractions of that night, the facts might have lined up for him even then, but reading them from the dispassionate distance of decades he must have seen the explanation just as clearly as I had. Of course, it could be true.

I was walking, talking proof of that.

The answer, if answer it was, had so many implications. Given Edward's tendency to blame himself, it could be a recipe for disaster. There was only one thing that could make him look past that, one thing that came more naturally to him than his unrelenting self-judgment – his concern for Bella.

If he thought this wretched incident held the key to helping her now, nothing else would matter, and so I had to hope this was the case, hope for it even knowing it might lead to utter devastation.

Had he connected the dots beyond this discovery? Could they even be connected? In any case, I needed to get to him immediately.

I encountered no one in my hurried departure from the house. The sun was pushing its way up through gritty clouds, and the wind was still. At hunting speed, I flew through the forest to the other side of the river.

The cottage door was open when I arrived, Edward framed in the doorway. His hair looked like it had suffered a rough night, but his eyes burned directly into mine.

"Well?" he said without preamble.

I drew in a deep breath. "Yes." Just saying that single word felt like lighting a fuse, and I didn't know how long it was. "Yes, I have a feeling you're onto something."

He turned back into the house without another word. I followed, closing the door behind me. "Renesmee?"

"Still asleep," he murmured, abstracted. He stood in the middle of the room frowning at the floor, adding my opinion to the conclusion I was sure he'd already drawn.

"I swear to you," he said at last, pushing the words through grimly set lips, "I never meant for that . . . to happen. Not . . . ever."

"Don't you think I know that? Circumstances intervened. It was rotten luck – too much happening at once."

He continued to glare downward until I half expected the flagstones to smolder and liquefy at his feet. I needed him to say something – anything, so I could engage him in conversation or argument – or mortal combat. Anything would be better than internalizing the discovery to fuel either his habitual self-criticism or his explosive emotions.

I actually felt relieved when he finally said, "The fact remains, I created a monster. I created him and set him loose on the world. He was already a killer. Can you imagine how he must have used the transformation, how many people he's murdered in the last eighty years?" He'd shifted his gaze to me now. "He must have dragged himself off to endure those first days alone. Obviously, it's possible – you did it."

I couldn't disagree. "He probably holed up somewhere until he regained some measure of control and then – who knows? From what you've described – with so many people living on the streets, he'd have had no trouble feeding. Or maybe he returned to Europe for fear the police were searching for him."

"Killing people all the while. How many, Carlisle? Every one of their deaths is as much my fault as if I'd slaughtered them myself."

"I knew you'd feel that way," I said, grabbing him by the shoulders and forcing him to meet my eyes. "But it isn't true. You inadvertently gave him immortality, but you didn't make him a monster.

"He was already that – a murderer and a con-artist, probably a psychopath. Our essential character doesn't change, Edward. I did the same to you, but even at your most out of control, you retained a certain integrity. You fought against the behavior that wasn't true to who you were."

He shrugged out of my grasp, looking embarrassed. "I'm sorry you had to read that, but it seemed important to put it all in context. I hated for you to know what a mess I made of things."

"Honestly? I was expecting a lot worse."

"Oh, well, thank you for your faith in me," he said drily.

"You're welcome." I smiled, and the corner of his mouth lifted briefly. "All right. You have to give me a chance to catch up here. I'm assuming you think this is our smoking gun – an immortal with a reason to hate you."

"It has to be." He was pacing now, as if physically pursuing his racing thoughts. "There can only be one. You're going to have to take my word for that, Carlisle. My victims were always dead, because I practically killed them twice – once my way, once in a way that would deflect the authorities.

"French was the only one who could have survived, because I was interrupted before I could follow through and didn't get back to him in time. I should have considered the possibility then, but I saw that police vehicle and jumped to the conclusion that they'd found his body. Stupid," he added under his breath.

"Well, speaking of conclusion jumping," I said as gently as I could, "it's a far cry between identifying an enemy and concluding that he's the one who's done this unspeakable thing to Bella. That _is _where you're headed with this, isn't it?"

"I don't think it's a leap. It's the only thing that makes sense. If he simply wanted revenge for my changing him, he could have come at me any time, but he didn't. He waited until he could take away from me what he thinks I took from him."

"You mean Evelyn? But you weren't romantically involved with her."

"I'm not sure he was either, but he wanted her and her money. When her father found out what he was, he knew he wasn't going to succeed through marriage, so he tried murder instead."

"Thinking she'd turn to him for comfort," I finished for him. "But he didn't expect to get caught in the act, and he was in no condition to play the solicitous lover until it was far too late. Thanks to you."

"Thanks to me," Edward confirmed.

I suddenly realized I'd joined him in his pacing around the small living room. His restless energy was contagious. God, help us if the hope that was fueling it led nowhere.

"Okay, you've got a suspect and a motive. What's next?"

"Opportunity," he supplied immediately. "Somehow he found out where I was. From there it would be easy to learn I was married."

"So what then – he just happens to arrive here when you've left Bella alone?"

"No, he's been in the area for weeks. Leah Clearwater claimed to detect a strange vampire scent over a month ago, and we all dismissed it. Apparently, he amused himself by knocking off a Picasso while he waited."

"Good lord, I never made that connection," I said, aghast. "Maybe he was trying to get your attention. Psychopaths can be like that – they can't resist flaunting their cleverness."

But Edward was shaking his head. "I considered that, but no. French never knew I'd found out about his forgeries, and he had no way of knowing we owned that drawing. I suspect he felt perfectly safe continuing his usual activities right under our noses, but it is what jumped out at me when I read the journal."

"I take it you believe he confronted Bella in the woods that day – the hiker. Her description – it fits this French character?"

Edward snorted. "It couldn't be more different. He's dark, well-muscled, not in the least unsure of himself."

"Then why such an elaborate disguise? Bella had never seen him before. An accurate description wouldn't bring him to your mind when you assumed he'd been dead for decades."

"He may not realize that. For all he knew, I changed him on purpose and abandoned him to cope on his own. Another reason to hate me."

I felt my mind hurrying to keep up with the sudden flood of ideas. For weeks, I'd been searching for something – anything – that could set us on a productive path. Now he was firing possibilities at me faster than I could examine them. I needed to keep up, if my opinion was going to be of any use to him, and it felt like he might explode out of the cottage any moment.

"Weapon," I said tersely, knowing this was the part where his desperate hope would either stand or fall. "You're assuming that French has a special ability, an incredibly powerful one. What evidence do you have of that?"

Edward stopped pacing and looked at me, as if I hadn't been listening. "Bella," he said. "Whatever was done to her was done that day in that place by him. It's the only explanation."

As a theory, it was completely unprovable, but the words of a fictional character rang in my mind. _When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains,__however improbable__, must be the truth._

"Yes, I see, but Edward – and you know I hate to bring this up – I'm sure you've considered it as well – what makes you think that French has the ability to undo what he's done? Or that he'd be willing to try?"

"Willing?" His incredulous look was accompanied by the first laugh I'd heard from him in weeks. "Trust me, Carlisle, _willing_ will not be an issue."

"Very well, but the fact remains we know nothing about this ability of his. Why do you think it can be reversed?"

"Because it has to," he said simply, deadly serious again. "I can't . . . live . . . with anything else."

There was nothing to say to that. The room was suddenly filled with a terrible silence. I cleared my throat and rushed to rectify that, "Now, tell me where you're going with all this. I assume you mean to track him down."

"I've been on the phone – with Maurice and the detective I spoke with about the Seattle drawing. I'm attempting to get them to connect some threads, perhaps through Interpol, but convincing them to go back several decades is – to say the least – tricky. Their global view is not quite as far-reaching as ours."

"You think he's returned to Europe?"

"I have no idea. I'm checking everywhere I can to try and pick up a trail."

"What can I do to help? I have to put in some hours at the hospital, but I can work in phone calls while I'm there."

He snatched a piece of paper from his pocket. "These are a few of the exclusive galleries that deal in big-ticket items. If you wouldn't mind contacting them, seeing if they've had any problems. You'll have to say you're a journalist or an investigator or a cautious collector. Can you do that?"

This time my smile was genuine. "You forget that I lie all day every day. Stop trying to hog all the credit. What are you going to do if you find him?"

"I don't know yet. Whatever I have to."

I had no doubt of that. "I'll see what I can find out and call you as soon as possible. Don't do anything definitive until we talk again. I'll come down here when I leave the hospital."

He nodded distractedly, and I left, the adrenaline coursing through my body.

There are advantages to having a job that requires your full attention. Once I'd made a few calls and passed the information onto Edward, I was able to lose myself totally in the work I'd been designed to do.

Happily, there were nothing but routine surgeries scheduled for today, and I gave them my full attention with no leisure to worry about my volatile son and what he might do in such extreme circumstances.

It was nearing four when I left the hospital. I bypassed the house, going straight to the cottage, where I could hear Edward talking on the phone. I let myself in to find him pacing, the small cell I had given him pressed to his ear in his long, white fingers."

"Very upscale," he was saying. "Talk to Christie's and to Sotheby's. And the vault is essential. Yes, a receptionist as well, one who can be trusted."

When he pocketed the phone, he turned to me with a look of fierce determination. "I've found him."

"Already?" I said, shocked. "Are you sure?"

"I'm leaving again for New York in the morning."

"Is that where he is?"

"No, he's somewhere in New England, Boston possibly, but I've set up a lure. From the kind of questionable agents French deals with to impeccable authorities. Seamless. It shouldn't take long, and by the way, I'm going to need that bogus Picasso."

"I . . . okay, of course, it's yours. Would you care to explain any of this?"

"No time."

"All right, but if you plan to confront him, you'd better take Emmett and Jasper with you."

"No, I have to do this by myself. I'm the one who set this in motion, Carlisle. It's my responsibility to see it through,"

"But that was decades ago," I argued. "You had no way of knowing it would come to this. We all want to help."

"I appreciate that. If everything goes according to plan, I'll need it. Just, please, let me do this part my way and stand by until I call."

I wanted to argue, to point out once again that the hopes he had riding on this treacherous phantom might be no more than wishful thinking, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't deprive him of the one thing giving him purpose. "There must be something I can do in the interim."

"There is," he said, fastening me with one of those hypnotic stares that told me I wasn't going to like what I heard. "I need you to give Renesmee to Bella."

"What?"

"This has been hard for her. I'm not leaving her again without a parent."

"Edward, think about what you're saying. The rest of us can keep her distracted until you get back. If we put them together at this stage, there's no telling how Bella will react. If she behaves like she did when she saw you . . ."

"She won't. Jacob agrees with me. He thinks it was all she could do not to sweep Nessie up in her arms when she saw her in the hammock."

Damn, if his stubbornness wasn't overcoming his judgment.

"And what if she had? Nessie would have wakened and said, 'Momma' to a woman who has no memory of having a child, does not even know she's married. We have no idea how Bella's condition actually works. It could do a lot of damage – to both of them."

"Don't you think I've considered all that?" His tone was scathing, but it softened as he went on. "I know my daughter's mind, Carlisle. We've discussed this at length, and she knows what she has to do."

_Discussed it?_ I wondered for a moment if either one of them had ever opened their mouths during this "discussion." But of course, that was the source of his confidence.

The two of them had a flow of communication that was unprecedented even among our kind, one that had begun when Nessie was still in the womb. "I still think it's unfair to put that kind of responsibility on a child."

"It's because she's a child that it can work." And now his voice was back to its most compelling, soft and impossible to ignore.

"She understands the gravity of the situation, as well as any adult, but the little girl in her sees it as a game, a game that can let her spend time with her mother again. She won't jeopardize that. She sees it as a step toward breaking the evil spell. It's up to me to make sure she's not disappointed."

And what if you can't do that? I couldn't help thinking. What if this thing is impossible to undo and you can't keep your promise?

Of course, he heard me. "I have to, Carlisle. There is no other choice for me."

I nodded. "All right. I'll find a way to arrange it."

"Thank you," he said fervently. "Thank you for still trusting me."

"I've never not trusted you," I replied, grabbing him in a fierce, brief hug. "Good luck in New York, son. I know you'll do everything you can."

And with that I fled, fighting off the emotion that wouldn't help my efforts to put his plan into action. I'd need to bring everyone up to speed, but my best bet was Alice. With luck, she could see whether this was going to work, and she was closer to Bella than any of us.

It was going to require some fancy footwork on her part, but Alice is blessed with amazing grace, among other enviable qualities. She'd be our best hope here at home, and Edward – my poor, tormented son – was once again entirely on his own.


	27. Guest

Chapter 27

Guest

The cell phone I'd misplaced somewhere popped up again in the pocket of my anorak. I was sure I'd looked there before, but considering how much of my life was unexplainable lately, it didn't seem worth worrying about.

I was surprised to see the caller was Alice since I thought she'd been in the darkroom all morning.

"Hey, Bella," she practically sang. "How about meeting me for a little walk?"

"Where are you, Alice? And have you noticed it's raining?"

"You're not going to melt. Besides, it's about to stop. You know the place where the three cedars make an 'N'? Why don't you meet me there?"

"All right," I said and hung up.

I felt no more enthusiasm for the prospect than I did for anything else lately, but there was no good reason to refuse. What was I going to do instead? Read some more? Try to make myself useful around the already spotless house?

I put the coat on so I wouldn't look too out of place in the rainy woods in case I ran into another annoying backpacker, and went in search of someone to tell that I was going out. No sense in causing a panic if they couldn't find me. I found Rosalie in her room running some sort of steam cleaner over the finished blue gown.

"Bella! What are you doing here?"

"Uh . . . nothing. I just wanted to tell you I'm going out for a while. Alice wants me to meet her for a walk."

Her shoulders relaxed, although she still looked oddly nervous. "Oh, that's okay then. Have a . . . have a really nice time."

"Sure." Yet another hike through the boring drizzle – should be a barrel of laughs.

As I stepped outside, it occurred to me that I could just keep going, out of the Cullens' lives where I was extraneous at best and a reminder that all their wealth and power couldn't fix everything at worst. But where would I go?

In some ways, I'd always been a loner, but I couldn't see much appeal in the life of a nomad. There were a few things I still knew about myself and one was that I was essentially a homebody. I liked having my own refuge, and I liked living with someone I loved, even if – like Renee and Charlie – they weren't around all that much.

Also, I was committed to the Cullens' lifestyle, for lack of a better word. I'd made it through the most dangerous stage of being a vampire without killing anyone. It would be a shame to spoil that record now when I was used to my limited diet.

The only alternative I could see to staying in Forks lay in the little I knew about the Denali clan. I should have known more, I was certain, but my knowledge seemed hazy and incomplete. The important thing was that they too, restricted their hunting to animals. The Cullens regarded them almost as extended family.

Would they welcome someone new to their coven? Would I even like them? My speedy immortal brain was already racing to a perverse scenario that I couldn't help imagining.

What if I trekked all the way to the wilds of Alaska, only to walk in on the one vampire I was trying to avoid? Wasn't that the logical place for the demon to have gone since I'd exorcised him out of his own home?

Gah, that would be just like me – stumbling out of the frying pan into the fire. For a split second, I pictured myself crawling into an igloo at the ends of the earth, confronting some booted feet, looking up, up, up those long legs to that perfect, dangerous face. He probably wouldn't even be surprised. Wasn't that my thing – crawling after him, no matter what he did?

Stop it! I commanded myself. It's all beside the point anyway. You can't leave the Cullens unprotected when he could return at anytime to put their very existence at risk.

I shook off the negative thinking, noticing suddenly that Alice had been right as usual. The rain had stopped. The sun was even pushing through the clouds in fits and starts, casting interesting patterns on the forest path.

That's what I thought it was at first – a trick of the light – that made it look as if Alice was accompanied by a sunbeam. She was a good 30 yards away when I spotted her, walking towards me alongside someone even smaller than she was, someone dressed all in shiny, brilliant yellow.

A kid, I deduced finally (who said my brain wasn't working?), wearing a slicker and matching rubber boots. The hood was secured around a plump, childish face that might have been a girl's or boy's. Hard to tell, but my curiosity was definitely piqued.

As we drew closer together, I could see Alice studying my expression intently. Her companion was walking with eyes downcast, determined to coax a splash out of every available puddle. Well, what were rain boots for?

When I reached them, Alice said with some formality and absolutely no explanation, "Bella, I'd like you to meet a very dear friend of mine. This is Nessie."

I waited for her to continue before realizing she wasn't going to and that I was being rude just standing here. Accordingly, I knelt on the wet path in front of them. Introductions were meant to be face-to-face, after all.

And I knew this face! I'd seen it just days ago fast asleep under the willows.

"Hey, Nessie. It's really good to meet you."

She looked up then through her thick lashes and smiled at me. My breath caught in my throat. I'd been right. Sleeping, she'd looked adorable; awake, there was such liveliness in her expression that I hesitated to look away, afraid I might miss something.

She had perfect little white teeth and dimples, but it was her eyes that made her so enchanting. They were brown, like mine had been, but much more beautiful. They truly seemed to sparkle and dance as if hiding some delightful secret.

"I'll bet Nessie's short for Vanessa," I continued since she showed no inclination to speak. "Both really cool names, by the way. And you know what else? I think I have a friend who's your friend too. His name is Jacob."

Her smile widened and she looked up at Alice expectantly. I don't know what Alice's response was. I couldn't take my eyes off the little girl long enough to see, but when she turned back to me, she nodded very slightly. She'd understood!

"When we were about your age, Jacob and I used to make mud pies together. Have you ever made a mud pie?"

This time the nod was enthusiastic.

I had so little experience of children. This one looked old enough to talk, but maybe not. She was tall for a toddler, although her features still had a babyish charm, and she'd definitely understood what I was saying.

Odd, how the awareness of her heart beat, the warm fresh blood flowing through her little body didn't overwhelm me. I was too entranced by her winning smile to feel more than a vague discomfort. Alice must have seen that before deciding to introduce us.

Aware, suddenly that my jeans were getting soaked in the mud as I knelt there and that I was impeding their progress, I rose, brushing the pine needles from my knees.

"We should get going," Alice said. The formality had left her voice; she sounded almost giddy. "It's time for Nessie's lunch."

"Are you taking her to your house, Alice?" I asked, in which case I hoped she wasn't very hungry. Did the Cullens even have any food in their gourmet kitchen?

"Of course. As a matter of fact, she'll be staying with us for a few days, so you'll have plenty of time to get acquainted."

The little girl had been holding Alice's hand, and now she held her other one out to me. I took it, feeling absurdly flattered. We walked back down the path that way, swinging our arms, as Alice kept up a running commentary on the flora and fauna we passed.

I doubted her recitation could be of much interest to such a young child, but the sound of it in her sing-song voice set a catchy rhythm that our footsteps just naturally followed.

I felt almost light-hearted for the first time in recent memory and decided it was because I wasn't fixated on me and my problems for a change. I was finally intrigued by something outside myself.

Esme greeted us at the front door. She looked positively excited when she saw us. "Hello, sweetheart," she said, bending down to help Nessie out of her boots and slicker. "I'm so happy you're all here."

The house that had seemed almost deserted when I left was suddenly filled with Cullens. Every one of them managed to intersect our path from the front door to the kitchen, smiling and ruffling Nessie's curls as they passed. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who felt cheered by her presence.

I glanced at Alice. Her expression could only be interpreted as smug. What that was about I couldn't imagine, but I was distracted by the sight of Esme actually bringing human food out of the refrigerator.

She put two small dishes in the microwave and set a bowl of fruit on the table. Nessie scrambled into a chair, as if she'd done this many times before.

"Can I feed her?" I heard myself ask suddenly.

"Not necessary," Alice said. "She can do it all herself."

Oops. I hoped I hadn't hurt her feelings. I was clearly clueless when it came to child rearing. Esme brought the carrots and green beans from the microwave and handed her guest a fork. Within seconds I revised my estimate of her age decidedly upward. She ate almost gracefully, never spilling a bit of food, something I probably hadn't mastered till I hit puberty.

"Is she a vegetarian?" I wondered aloud.

"Off and on," Alice said cryptically. "Good girl, Ness. Now you can have your fruit."

A dimpled hand reached for the spoon and then inexplicably held it out to me. "Does she want me to taste it?" I asked.

"I think she does want you to feed her," Esme said.

"Oh, okay, no problem." I took the spoon and scooped up a bit of pineapple, placing it gently into her mouth. She chewed it slowly, still smiling and then opened wide again like a baby bird. This time I delivered a piece of banana and a cherry. All the while her eyes sparkled as if we were playing some amusing game.

When she was finished, Alice announced naptime. I half expected a protest, but Nessie hopped down from the chair, scooted it back up to the table and allowed herself to be picked up.

"Come with?" Alice trilled over her shoulder, and I followed them out of the kitchen.

"Where's she going to sleep?"

"You'll see."

I saw it, but I scarcely believed it. We ended up at a room I'd never laid eyes on. It had a bed and dresser and shelves of toys and dolls and stuffed animals. There was even a tiny tea service set out on a child-sized table.

"Has this been here all along?" I asked incredulously.

"That's why you're such a perfect guest, Bella. You never poke around behind closed doors."

But if I'd been a frequent guest, and this little stranger had been a frequent guest, why hadn't I been aware of her existence before?

It was only one of the dozens of questions that had been building up inside me ever since we met in the woods, questions I hadn't been free to ask in the presence of a child who seemed to follow what adults were saying.

I stood in the doorway watching, as Alice prepared the other guest for her nap. "Where did all this stuff come from?" I asked.

Alice laughed. "You pick now to doubt the power of the basement? We Cullens like to be prepared for anything."

"I thought that was the Boy Scouts."

"I know it's confusing, but we're the ones who don't wear uniforms." She bent over the bed, tucking the little girl in snugly and then turned to me. "She wants to know if you'll be here when she wakes up."

"Yeah, sure." I said quickly, once again feeling flattered. "Maybe you can introduce me to your dolls, Nessie."

I could have sworn I heard a giggle, but Alice was pressing me back into the hallway, closing the door behind her. "She'll sleep for an hour or two. I need to get down to the darkroom."

"Whoa," I said, grabbing her arm. "Not so fast. I have about a gazillion questions for you."

"Well, you see, that's a problem. I won't have any answers for you. For that, you're going to have to talk to Carlisle. It's a rule."

"What? But he won't be home for hours. At least answer the simple ones. How old is she? Can she talk?"

"I don't think Carlisle can even say exactly how old she is. She's different, Bella. And she can talk, she just chooses not to. Now, that's all I'm going to say."

"Why doesn't she talk? Was it some kind of trauma? Has she been abused or something?" The thought was so horrifying, I gripped Alice's arm tighter.

"That hurts," she pointed out calmly.

"Oh, sorry." I released her, but I must have looked so worried, she didn't immediately leave.

"Does she act like she's been abused, Bella? She's a very happy little girl. Surely, you feel it. That's why she's so much fun to have around. Now my Dektol isn't getting any younger. I'll see you later."

If I'd thought Esme would be an easier mark for my questions I was dead wrong. "I really can't say," she answered, when I trapped her in her studio, and she said it with one of her I'm-the-mom-and-what-I-say-goes expressions. "But isn't she delightful?"

Next I targeted Emmett. Maybe he should have been my first choice since he was the most prone to speaking before giving it much thought, but he simply grinned and said, "She's a kick, isn't she?"

I was hoping he'd elaborate, but just then Rosalie walked in, shooting him what I thought was a warning look. "You'll need to save your questions for Carlisle, Bella. We're hardly experts on kids, as you very well know, but it seems like Nessie's taken a shine to you."

"Is she always that friendly to strangers?" I asked. "I mean, couldn't that be dangerous? Kids have to be so careful these days."

Rosalie laughed, a rare, unsarcastic sound that startled me. "You don't need to worry about anything of the kind. That little girl has more people looking out for her than you can imagine. You should really spend time with her – I'm sure it would do you both good."

Why, I wondered. Was it because we both had something wrong with us, some glitch in our brains that kept has from functioning like normal people? It was clear I wasn't going to get any straight answers until Carlisle came home.

Alice apparently knew exactly when Nessie was about to wake up from her nap and made sure to be on hand. The two of them came looking for me and found me in my favorite reading chair where I'd been trying unsuccessfully to get back into the story, distracted by the latest twist in the Cullen saga.

"Nessie would like to show you her favorite things, if you're free," Alice announced. Her angelic-looking companion blinked up at me, biting her lip as if to keep from smiling.

I hopped up immediately. "That sounds like fun."

"Would you mind entertaining her for a while?" Alice asked when I'd followed them back to the room. "I've still got loads to do downstairs."

"No problem." At last, something to do that I really looked forward to. I was pleased that Nessie didn't object to being left alone with me either. She immediately set off on an orderly tour of this room that seemed to have been set aside specifically for her.

Without saying a word, she introduced her dolls and animals, one by one. The first, a soft cuddly wolf, she hugged and then handed to me. I hugged it too, and she beamed in approval. The second got a pat on the head, so I did the same, and it went on like that with Nessie demonstrating an affectionate gesture for each of her favorites and me trying to duplicate it.

When we'd gone through them all, she pointed at me, and it only took a second for me to realize it was my turn to come up with a new greeting for each one. My attempts got sillier as I ran out of conventional ideas – tickling one's tummy, bouncing another gently on its head. Nessie mimicked me perfectly, her pleasure mounting until adorable giggles filled the air like bubbles.

After that we played with Legos, offering each other choice pieces until we'd created something that looked like a cross between a house and a Cootie. Weird, but it made us both smile.

We took turns looking through a kaleidoscope and transported an assortment of plastic farm animals to various locations in the room via a dump truck, the cattle car of a non-existent train and one over-laden tug boat.

I noticed there were a number of other vehicles parked on the lower shelf, including an MG like Rose's and a yellow Porsche, a clear sign that this room had been stocked by someone other than Santa.

Nessie put each toy away when we were done with it – no prodding from me, and quickly brought out something else. It was as if she wanted me to see and touch everything that was hers. Surely, that was unusual for a child her age. Didn't they typically have a hard time learning to share?

She was showing me her books, when Alice peeked in, Jasper at her elbow.

"Everything okay in here?"

"Great," I said. "We were just choosing something to read. What do you think, Nessie?"

She frowned into the bookcase and then faced me, palms pressed together under her tilted cheek, her eyes closed. "What?" I said, "You're getting tired?"

She shook her curls and went back to her pantomime.

"I think she wants to read _Sleeping Beauty,_" Alice guessed.

"Nice save, Alice," I said, as Nessie opened her eyes and grinned at us. "I don't see it in here, though."

"I don't think it is there," Alice mused. "Jazz, could you do something about that?"

"No problem," he said and left. Where was he going – the library, a bookshop? If this was the way the Cullens responded to her every whim, it was a wonder the child wasn't a spoiled brat. I'd only known her a few hours, but I'd seen no signs of it.

We settled for a book of poems. Alice and I took turns reading them aloud, while Nessie sat, thoughtfully appearing to follow every word. Jasper reappeared and with no explanation deposited a small stack of books on Alice's lap. One of them was _Sleeping Beauty._

"I'll let you do the honors," she said, handing it to me and slipping the others onto the shelf.

"What time does she have her dinner?" It seemed like an innocent question, but Alice hesitated. "As a matter of fact, Emmett and Rose had plans to take her out tonight. I'm sorry to break you two up when you're getting along so well, but it's hard to get another reservation this late."

Reservation?

Why would they take a child to a restaurant fancy enough to require reservations? It wasn't like either one of them was going to eat.

I frowned at Alice, but she pretended not to notice. "You read the story and I'll find her something to wear." She buried herself in the closet – conveniently, I thought – but I didn't have time to puzzle about it further because Nessie had snuggled up beside me.

She smelled wonderful. In spite of the swift spurt of venom that her closeness triggered, I had no real urge to taste her blood. I was sure it would be sweet. The quick beat of her heart kept me ever conscious of it, but all I felt was an overwhelming desire to keep her safe – from me, from everything.

I read the story, and Nessie actually clapped her little hands when the prince broke the evil spell, beaming up at me as if I'd concocted the happy ending off the top of my head.

To add to the weirdness, the clothes Alice had picked for her evening out were hardly what I would have expected – sturdy overalls and a plain, long-sleeved tee. And this was the woman who tried to dress me in silk and satin to putter around the greenhouse?

I felt a little wistful as the threesome said goodbye at the front door. Surely, the restaurant could find another chair someplace. It wasn't like I'd be eating their precious food, but nobody suggested I come along.

Well, of course they didn't, I chided myself. Why would they even think I cared? Normal people didn't go around getting so attached to strangers in a matter of hours. Better to feel grateful for the day's distractions and stop taking everything so personally.

On the bright side, this was the perfect time to tackle Carlisle and get some answers.

"Is he in his study," I asked Alice.

"Carlisle? No. Didn't Esme tell you? He has to stay at the hospital tonight – some of the staff out sick, but that probably means he'll be around in the morning."

Drat! I was bursting with questions. Who was Nessie? Who were her parents? Why weren't they here? What was her connection to the Cullens? Why did she seem both older and younger than she appeared to be? Was there something seriously wrong with her? And why would human parents leave a young child with vampires and werewolves?

I wasn't going to get any answers tonight. "Would you like some help, Alice – in the darkroom, I mean?"

"Well, I don't know about help, but I'd love to have your company. You know that." She looked so pleased, I was glad I'd offered. So I remembered to stop breathing and trailed her down to her inner sanctum. It was the first time I'd followed her through the whole process, and I had to admit it was fascinating.

The best part was watching the picture materialize out of plain white paper, timing it just so, to get the widest range of shades between white and black or purposely reducing the in-betweens to create high-contrast, dramatic portraits.

"This is stunning," I said, as I helped her hang a new print up to dry. The subject was Jasper, and she'd manipulated the process so that the myriad silver scars showed on his throat. It was frightening but also beautiful.

"I'm not sure I'm going to show him that one," Alice said. "It might make him too self-conscious. They don't really show up like that to human eyes."

"But it tells a story," I reasoned. "You can see that he's been through hell, that he's dealt with death a thousand times, and yet there's something pensive and almost sweet in his expression. What was he looking at?"

"Me," she said, and in the red light it looked like she was blushing. "I had the camera on a timer."

"Well, I guess you won't be entering that one in any photography contests."

"No." She laughed softly. "Only anonymous competitions for us. Oh, look at this one! Have you ever seen anything so perfect?"

It was an extreme close-up of Nessie, looking upward, her eyes sparkling even in black and white, each eyelash defined. Her mouth was slightly open in the beginnings of a smile that brought out her dimples. "You could make this a Christmas card, Alice. Just add a halo and she'd look like the real thing."

"The amazing part is, she's just as sweet as she looks, but I suspect you've found that out. She makes people feel good just being around her."

"I guess that explains it," I said. "I thought maybe it was just me."

I helped Alice clean up and then we both stripped off our rubber gloves and headed upstairs. "Would you like to say goodnight to Nessie? She's about to go to sleep."

"They're home?" I'd totally lost track of the time in the darkroom.

"Yes, and she's had her bath. I give her a minute and a half before she's in dreamland."

We quickened our steps and stole into the room just as Rosalie was saying goodnight.

"Did you have a good time with Rose and Emmett?" Alice asked in a whisper and got an answering smile even as her eyelids nearly closed. "Here's Bella, to wish you sweet dreams, too."

I leaned over her and whispered, "I'm really glad I met you."

Her eyes flicked open again, and she reached one little hand up to my cheek. Instantly, Alice grabbed it and pressed it to her lips. "Sleep now, baby. We'll all be here in the morning."

We crept out but I was fairly certain we could have stomped. She was asleep that quickly.

I went off to Alice's room, knowing there was very little chance she'd show up there tonight. I needed to be alone to think. I looked for something comfortable to change into – sweats, maybe, a well-washed tee – but thanks to my hostess, the only comfy thing in the closet turned out to be a sheer lavender gown. Just who was I supposed to be impressing?

Stretching out on the bed, I welcomed the chance to put together a different puzzle for a change, one that hopefully wasn't missing so many pieces. Where had Nessie come from? Everyone tried to act as if her being there was a casual thing, but the more I tried to put the impressions from the day in perspective, the more it didn't make sense.

The room was clearly set up for her and her alone. Did you really do that for an occasional guest? And though I understood what they meant about her being a pleasure to be around, everyone seemed particularly . . . invested in her. Esme with her specially prepared foods, Emmett and Rosalie planning a dinner out, even Jasper knowing how to find the books she wanted. And where had Alice come up with her in the first place this morning?

That was an excellent question. She hadn't driven anywhere. She'd simply materialized in the forest with a stranger in tow. Under ordinary circumstances, the obvious explanation would be that the Cullens were babysitting for a neighbor.

Only they had no neighbors.

That was the whole point of their location – three miles from the nearest road and even farther from any other houses. Who else would you do that kind of favor for – friends?

As sad as it sounded, the Cullens had no friends in Forks. They were careful not to cultivate them, and the natural, mostly subconscious, aversion humans felt for our kind kept other people at a wary distance.

Who did that leave? Family. But they were their own family. Any relatives they'd had in their human lives were long gone. Still, there was something one of them had said – it seemed like a long time ago, but it wasn't a human memory. It didn't even predate my loony tunes phase. Who was it that had said . . . Alice!

It was Alice. My eyes sprang open and I searched the ceiling above the bed as if the words might be written there. She had said she had a niece! I hadn't questioned her further at the time because I was still having trouble stringing my thoughts together, but I was better at that now. My reasoning seemed pretty clear.

If Alice had a niece, it could only mean that Nessie belonged to Rosalie and Emmett. It took me a minute to assimilate that. Was it even possible? From one perspective anyway, it made perfect sense. Rosalie had always wanted a child of her own. Since she and Emmett couldn't create one, why not adopt?

I tried to imagine the two of them going through the typical background check of an adoption agency and couldn't see it happening. Of course, there were less formal ways to accomplish the same thing, especially if you had an unlimited supply of money, but why keep it a secret?

Unless . . .

Now I was venturing down one of the dark passages in my mind that I'd tried so hard to avoid. Cowardice was getting me nowhere in my quest to fill in the blanks; maybe it was time to think the unthinkable. I took a deep breath and continued.

What if Rosalie had spotted Nessie, a picture-perfect little girl, on the streets of Seattle or Portland? She might have seemed the living, breathing image of the dream that had been stolen from her. How far would she go to make that dream a reality?

Would she be able to ignore the agony left behind by a kidnapping, or justify another death or two in her mind, as she had the revenge killings so long ago? And would Emmett have gone along with either one? He hated to deny her anything she wanted.

Carlisle would never have condoned murder, but maybe he and the others turned a blind eye and refrained from asking too many questions, seeing that Rosalie – the only one among them who still begrudged the loss of her humanity – might finally have found fulfillment.

There was only one person who might question the addition to the household. One person, who still had ties to the human world, whose father was sworn to uphold the human laws broken to make that addition possible.

That was very obviously me. Was that why I could never fit myself into the puzzle that was the Cullen clan? Because no matter how much they cared for me, I was still an outsider? I was already keeping one dangerous secret. Maybe they felt it would be pushing their luck to entrust me with another.

A foggy memory drifted across my mind – Charlie sitting at the kitchen table with a flyer in his hand, something about a missing person, a person from Forks. The image faded, leaving a chill in its wake, but I manufactured a new one of my own.

This time it was Nessie's picture on the flyer. Maybe her parents were begging for her safe return and all the time she was secretly living with Emmett and Rosalie as her new mother and father.

It was too far-fetched, too dark and disloyal, and yet it could explain so much. The room I'd never seen before. Maybe they'd kept Nessie there when I was in the house. Maybe that was why we'd never met.

I felt the Cullens' love and trust; it was genuine. But if they'd really chosen not to question where Rosalie came up with a child, they'd be understandably nervous about my dad and what we might inadvertently say to each other. Until now, of course, when I wasn't talking to Charlie and when my mind was so confused, no one took what I said too seriously anyway.

I squirmed with guilt just entertaining the possibility, but I couldn't unthink it. Just my luck that the pieces of this sinister little puzzle slid together pretty easily, while my self-portrait was still full of holes.

Lying here dwelling on it wasn't going to help anything. I sprang off the bed, catching sight of myself in Alice's long mirror. The gown she'd left for me was a little too sheer for traipsing around the house, but of course there was a matching robe – Alice would probably call it a peignoir – and I slipped it on, tying the flimsy sash as I headed toward the first sound I heard.

Not surprisingly it came from the big TV. Jasper and Emmett were sprawled in front of it watching a soccer game. They looked up when I entered, and Emmett gave me a grin that was teetering on the edge of a leer.

"Slinky looks hot on you, Bella. You should wear it more often."

Before I could retort, there was a breath of calm and Jasper added more diplomatically, "You look very pretty in lavender."

"Whatever. Is Alice around?"

They pointed the way, and I found her in the great room, curled up with a magazine in my favorite reading chair.

"Do you want your place back?" she asked when she saw me.

"No. I want to talk to you. I've remembered something."

"Oh, dear. Why do I feel like I'm not going to want to hear this?"

"It was something you said, Alice, that day you showed me the Denali picture. You said you had a niece. You meant Nessie didn't you?"

"Well . . ."

It was weird to see Alice hesitating. She was always so quick in everything she did. "You might as well tell me, because I'm not leaving until you do."

"It's just that . . . I really think it would be better if we wait for Carlisle. I'm not comfortable –"

"I'm not waiting for Carlisle, Alice, not when I can see you're perfectly capable of telling me yourself. You're my closest friend, remember? Surely, you can answer a simple question."

"Please, Bella, don't do this to me," she pleaded, and there was real distress in her expression. It made me feel mean. It made me feel guilty. It made me feel that if I just kept pushing it, I would finally get somewhere.

I leaned down into her face. "Tell me the truth, Alice. Does Nessie belong to Rose and Emmett or doesn't she?"


	28. Questions

**A/N: **_If you're reading this, hopefully it means Ch 28 uploaded. According to "this site," everyone gave up on **Morning** after Ch 26. While I was wondering if it was something I said, some reviews (of the chapter no one had opened) came in, and it was amazing how spot on the comments were! People were mentioning the very things that were in those unread pages! I figured it proved I had the smartest readers in all of fandom. I still feel that way but have since been told by those not new to this site that it had gone into free-fall fail. No stats, some fans couldn't access it, some writers put up new chapters only to find half of them missing. Still, I'm going to try to stay on schedule, so here goes. Ch 28 should start with the word "Alice" and end with "reality." _

_Oh - and there should be a bunch of words in between._

Chapter 28

Questions

Alice didn't look distressed anymore. She looked stunned.

"Does Nes– . . . ?" She kept staring at me as if my words were taking longer than usual to reach her ears. "Oh, you mean . . . I thought . . . Honestly, Bella, one of these days you're going to give somebody a heart attack."

What did that mean? I didn't even bother to ask, because now she appeared to be relieved – about something. Could things get any more confusing around here?

"You do realize," she said, perfectly composed again, "that our kind can't reproduce, don't you? Or is that something you've forgotten?"

"Of course, I know that, Alice. I was talking about adoption or . . . well, something."

"Oh. Oh, no. When I said that, I didn't mean it literally. Nessie calls us her aunts and uncles as a kind of . . . courtesy title, because we're close but not really related. I told you before she doesn't live here. Don't you think you would have noticed if she did?"

I sighed and sat down on the arm of her chair. "Thinking too much about Bertha Mason, I guess."

"Who?" Once again, she looked shocked, very un-Alice-like.

"Bertha Mason, Rochester's insane wife. You remember, _Jane Eyre_? It got me thinking that maybe you guys had a secret family member hidden away too."

Alice blinked. "Was that her name? I'd forgotten. You do have a vivid imagination, Bella. It's one thing to lock up a dangerous lunatic, but can you imagine keeping a lively little girl like Nessie under lock and key? That's just twisted."

"I know. I've been thinking all sorts of weird things, but I should have known you'd never lie to me like that." That should have made her feel better, but I could tell it didn't. She wouldn't even meet my eyes. "Am I making you nervous for some reason, Alice?"

She gave me a weak smile. "It's not your fault. I'm just so frustrated not being able to see how things are going to turn out. You're too busy trying to make sense of it all to form any clear decisions, and everything else is up in the air, so dependent on random people and events . . . I don't like feeling so useless."

"You could never be useless," I said, taking her hand. "I don't know what I'd do without you. And I'll bet you can come up with a pretty good estimate of what time Carlisle will actually get home."

Alice considered a moment. "It will be earlier rather than later. If nothing drastic changes, I'd say 8 a.m."

She should have felt proud of herself for that one. It was 7:58 when I heard the Mercedes turn into the drive. Only Esme beat me to the door. I held back long enough for her to greet her husband.

For some reason, I couldn't help expecting him to look tired after a double shift, but of course he was crisp and fresh as usual, his movie-star looks unmarred by fatigue.

"I would have liked to stay longer because we're still short-staffed, but there's only so far I can push it before they start wondering why I'm not exhausted."

"I'm sure they appreciate your dedication," Esme said, "but I'm glad to have you back. And I think Bella's anxious to talk to you."

"No rush," I added hastily, suddenly self-conscious about hovering. "Whenever you've got a minute free."

To my relief, he answered, "No time like the present. Let's go up to my study."

Good. It would be private. No distractions. As soon as he closed the door and we both sat down, I told him point-blank. "I have a couple of questions about Nessie, and no one else wants to answer them."

"Like what, for instance?"

"Who she is. Why I've never heard of her before. What happened to her parents? How old is she? Is there something seriously wrong with her, and if so, what?"

"That's more than a couple," Carlisle pointed out, but he smiled. "You seem to have developed quite an interest in her."

"It's hard not to when everyone acts so mysterious about her. I did feel drawn to her though. From what Alice says, I guess most people do."

"To one extent or another," he agreed. "As far as your questions are concerned, I'm afraid I can't be of much help. I know you're familiar with the concept of doctor-patient privilege."

And just like that, my assumption that I'd have answers as soon as I could get to Carlisle, vanished before my eyes. I couldn't believe it. I'd considered family, friends and neighbors as a way to connect Nessie to the Cullens, but never Carlisle's professional life.

Of course.

He already had one outsider he was keeping an eye on, why not another with her own textbook-defying abnormalities? Letting ordinary people care for her might be difficult, but no one in his own household would blink an eye at peculiarities, and they could keep him apprised of anything she did that might help explain her problems.

"I understand," I said at last with a sigh, "but there must be a few things you can tell me. Like how old she is."

"Actually, that's one of the hardest ones to answer. She's very age-appropriate in some aspects and not in others. There's not anything necessarily wrong with that, Bella, so you needn't worry about her. She's simply different, and we're trying to learn how to accommodate that."

I pushed on, grateful that he wasn't stonewalling me at any rate. "She hasn't been abandoned, has she? I mean, does she have family of her own?"

He smiled warmly. "She has two parents, both of whom love her very much."

"Oh. Well, that's a relief. It's just that not knowing the truth, I keep coming up with these wild ideas – like that Rosalie might have somehow" – I searched for a word that didn't sound so accusatory – "acquired her, to make up for the child she never had."

He shook his head. "No, you needn't worry about anything illegal. Nessie's very much here with her parent's permission."

I was hoping to sneak in one more question when there was a tap at the door, and Esme stuck her head in.

"Sorry to interrupt, but there's a little girl downstairs who's awake and asking for you, Bella."

"Me?" I said, surprised and pleased. "Okay, I'm coming. Thanks, Carlisle. I'm sorry if I was pushy with the questions."

He rose from behind the desk, bestowing his dazzling smile. "And I'm sorry to be so reticent about the answers."

I wondered how Nessie had "asked" for me when she didn't talk, but what difference did it make? My spirits instantly lifted, knowing I'd won her acceptance.

She was up and dressed and ran to throw her arms around my legs the moment she saw me.

"Good morning to you too, Nessie." I bent to look into her shining face. "Do I get to play with you again today?"

She nodded enthusiastically, her gorgeous curly hair bouncing in response. It was the prettiest color. I didn't really have a name for it.

"She wants to look for bugs," Esme explained. "Carlisle showed her this book one day, and she's been intrigued with the subject ever since."

There was a thick hardback on the little tea table. I opened it at random to find brilliantly hued pictures of various insects. The artist had succeeded in stressing their beauty over the creepiness. "She likes to look for insects and then try to match them to the pictures."

"Hey, I'm in," I said, giving her the thumbs up.

"Don't forget your hunting gear." Esme produced a little net, a mesh cage, and a magnifying glass that she stuffed into a colorful backpack. Nessie slipped it on gracefully and reached for the book.

"I'll take that," I said, scooping it off the table. "It's pretty heavy."

"Enjoy yourselves," Esme said, as she walked us to the door. "It looks like you have the perfect day for it."

She was right about that. Even in somewhere less gloomy than Forks, this would qualify as an almost sunny day with only a thin veil of clouds blocking the rays. I thought there were faint flashes of the diamond effect from my skin, but Nessie's looked just as radiant, so it was probably just the normal reflection of flawless complexions as seen through a vampire's eyes.

We started on the lawn behind the house, looking for bugs in the tall grass. When she found one she liked, Nessie would capture it with care and the two of us would search the book for a match. She had enormous patience for a young child, and for my part I never tired of watching her expressions.

It turned out the bugs that hung out at the edge of the forest were completely different from the ones who preferred the grass. Who knew such a menagerie was crawling all around us? Nessie carefully released each one we identified before going after another.

"You know, there's room in your cage for quite a few inmates," I pointed out. "You don't need to keep just one at a time."

She looked at me with the cutest expression of exasperation, and her little hands did a perfect pantomime of one eating the other.

"Oh, good point. You're the expert."

She smiled, probably relieved to find I could be taught, and pulled me toward the riverbank where the population consisted of even more different kinds of insects. Some of these were tending toward the freaky, so it was with relief I saw Emmett trudging across the grass toward us.

"Hey, doesn't anybody want any lunch?" he called.

Holy crow, was it that late? The morning had just flown by.

Nessie smiled up at Emmett when he reached us, and he swooped her up in his arms. "How's about a ride, Ness?"

She squealed as he swung her onto his broad shoulders. I grabbed up the bug book, and we set off toward the house.

"So how was the hunting? Find anything good?"

"We saw a common whitetail that would have knocked your socks off."

"Are you sure you're not getting insects confused with deer?"

"Nope, dragonfly, right Nessie?"

She responded by displaying four fingers in front of Emmett's eyes.

"Four wings," I interpreted for her. "Or two pairs at least. It was really beautiful."

"If you say so," Emmett said doubtfully.

Esme, Rosalie and Alice all joined us at the table while Nessie ate. This time when she got to the dessert, she fed herself, but I didn't feel slighted. It was clear I'd been welcomed into her inner circle, and it was ridiculous how special that made me feel.

Getting her down for her nap was also a joint effort, and after she woke up, the whole family came together for a rousing game of hide-and-seek. Nessie seemed completely comfortable with each and every Cullen, even Jasper.

I wondered how that could be, considering she was obviously human. Maybe young children hadn't yet developed the protective sense that told humans there was something wrong about people like us.

As for Jasper, he must have come a long way since that night he'd tried to attack me. He didn't seem bothered by her closeness at all. Still, I couldn't help wondering what would happen if it was Nessie who cut her finger.

That became the new dark vision haunting my brain. I knew it wasn't likely to leave me alone unless I found a way to dispel it, as I had the theory about Rosalie, so later in the evening I sought out Jasper.

He was alone – polishing a gleaming saber that usually hung in the hallway. "Is that yours?" I asked. "I mean, from your life . . . before?"

"Mm-hmm, take a look." He held it out for my inspection. "See the letters there – CS? That stands for Confederate States, and the way they're mounted separately on the guard? That's called 'floating,' means it belongs to an officer."

"It's really pretty. You must have taken good care of it all this time."

He nodded and returned to rubbing the long blade. "Serves as a reminder – that humans find reasons to kill each other, too, from time to time."

I wasn't sure what to say to that, so I forged ahead. "I need to ask you something, and I hope you won't take it the wrong way. It's just that . . . I can see Nessie likes to play with you, and I'm wondering what would happen if she, say, fell down and skinned her knee."

He didn't answer right away, but the corner of his mouth curled up. "What I would do is grab her up and get her to the first person I could find with a higher tolerance for blood flow than I have, which includes pretty much everybody."

"Huh." I bit my lip. "So you still don't trust yourself around it?"

He took a last swish with the polishing cloth and laid both cloth and sword gently on the table. "No, and I won't until I've been tested quite a few more times, but what you _can_ trust," and he put both hands on my shoulders, fixing me with a steady, golden gaze, "is that I would never let anyone, myself included, harm one hair on that little girl's head."

Slowly, my muscles relaxed under his grip, and I nodded. "Okay, I believe you. Thanks for not getting offended."

"No sense in taking offense at a fact. Now I get a turn."

"At what?"

"Risking offense. I just have to tell you that some of what you're saying about my brother – hell, most of it – may be true, but it's not the whole truth."

I couldn't really see what difference that made. If somebody was a murderer, did it really matter that they also liked kittens and long walks on the beach?

"And a little part of the truth? That's no better than a whole passel of lies. You'd do best to remember that."

"I'll remember," I said.

I'd remember, but I couldn't make myself believe it, not when my gut told me otherwise. Didn't people repress things because they were too terrible to think about? Given the part I could remember, the hidden truths had to be horrendous. Any more of them and I'd wind up at the funny farm for sure.

What I could do was try to live in the moment, and Nessie's presence made that a lighthearted prospect.

The next day, we collected various expendable things from around the house and set out along the river to try our hand at boat-building. If it wasn't quite as bright as yesterday, it was at least not raining. We found a large flat rock that jutted out over a place where the river ran smooth and chose it for our launching place.

It was just Nessie and me, and my efforts never extended further than folding paper or tying cardboard tubes together. The bigger task was choosing the cargo, a job my colleague took very seriously.

We sent berries and leaves and sticks and even little stones sailing downstream. Some of them didn't make it very far, either tipping over at the first sign of turbulence or flat-out sinking as they left the dock.

But the ones that made it long enough to disappear around the bend filled Nessie with such exuberant delight that I couldn't help laughing with her.

I picked up the scent just before he spoke.

"Caught you two red-handed, huh? Polluting our native waters."

Nessie's head snapped around and she scrambled to grab Jacob around the knees.

"Hey there, curly girl. I've missed you." He swung her up – pretty recklessly, I thought – planted a kiss on her forehead and set her back on her feet. "I see they've put you in charge of keeping Bella out of trouble. That's a huge job, you know." Nessie nodded solemnly and then broke out in a wide dimpled smile. "But I'm guessing if anybody can do it, you can."

"Well, you seem in a better mood than the last time I saw you," I said to him.

"I could say the same thing about you."

"Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you're not guarding this one," I said, nodding toward Nessie who'd turned back to her project, "like she's some kind of state secret."

"So you two getting along all right?" He crouched down beside me, still grinning.

"Yeah, she's great. We've been having a lot of fun together. Maybe I just needed to take a break from my problems . . . go back to childhood and start over."

"I can do childhood. Anybody up for making mud pies?"

Nessie was all for it, so that's what we did, the three of us digging through the mud with our hands, slapping a glob of it down on the flat rock and trying to make something stick together long enough to resemble a pie.

Nessie was all about the decorating. Her creation made up in pizzazz what it lacked in actual resemblance to a pie. It remained amorphous in shape but had a spectacular crust of shiny little pebbles.

Mine was going pretty well. It had dried out just enough to let me start fluting the edges like Gran had always done, when it started crumbling.

"Common pale-face mistake," Jacob said smugly. "You need to reinforce it with dried grass like mine. That's the Quileute way."

"It looks like it came by way of a cow," I retorted.

"Bet it tastes just as good as yours, Bells." He looked up. "Hey, Ness, not so close to the edge!"

She stepped back obediently and returned to her pie-making. A brat would have protested loudly at adult interference, so clearly she wasn't spoiled. And Jake didn't seem half bad at this baby-sitting business. Weird.

"She's really very coordinated," I assured him. "I don't think she'll fall."

"Like you'd know from coordination," he chuckled.

"Yeah, you laugh because you haven't seen the new me in action. I could land a swift kick on your arrogant butt any time I wanted, and you'd never see it coming."

"And here I thought you were in a better mood."

"I am," I said sweetly. "Knowing I can clobber you whenever I feel like it makes me absolutely euphoric."

"Cold-hearted bloodsucker."

"Hot-headed hairball."

"No points for that one. Cats have hairballs not wolves."

"Well, it was the best I could do on short notice. I'll try to up my game next time."

"I bet you will," he laughed. "But for real, you seem more like yourself."

"Like I'd know from myself."

"You will. There's good people doing everything they can to get to the bottom of this.'

By that I assumed he meant Carlisle. I didn't have the heart to tell him that the good Dr. Cullen had run up against a brick wall as far as my prognosis was concerned.

"We need to be getting back, Jake." I turned to Nessie. "Should we leave our pies for whoever's lucky enough to find them?"

She nodded eagerly, and I wondered what creatures roamed the riverbank at night in her imagination. I hoped they were benevolent ones, like the fairies I'd believed in at her age.

We gathered up the remains of our enterprise, and Jacob walked us back toward the house.

"Have you seen Charlie any more since he came back from his fishing trip?" I asked him.

"Sure. He's good. He seems to think you're off on some kind of vacation."

"Yeah, to la-la land," I muttered. "What do you think is going on between him and Sue Clearwater – anything?"

"Couldn't say. Mostly the two of them hang out with my dad. They've both been trying to help her since Harry died."

"Hmm, so you don't think there's any weird love triangle or that kind of thing?"

"God forbid," he said with conviction. "Nobody deserves that."

Nessie who'd been walking between us chose that moment to hold her arms out to Jacob. He scooped her up with one hand, and she encircled his neck as naturally as if they did this all the time.

"I don't suppose you'd like to tell me how you two happened to be acquainted?" I ventured, as we headed across the back meadow. "Along with a few other things that nobody's bothered to explain to me."

"Not my place," he said briefly, looking straight ahead.

"So you're another convert to the Carlisle school of thought – let Bella figure things out at her own pace? In case, you folks haven't noticed, I'm failing that course big time. I could use some help here, a little tutoring maybe." I nudged him playfully with my elbow.

"Hey, he _is_ the doctor and you gotta admit you're pretty touchy these days. Why don't you try just chilling, Bells? It's not raining, you got Princess Pipsqueak here to play with and a sorta beautiful guy to walk you home." He shot me his old cocky grin. "What more could you want?"

"I'm not sure, but I know there's something. I don't see how it could hurt if –"

But Jacob wasn't listening. His attention was on Nessie. "No, I'm not going to phase right now, because then I couldn't talk to you and Bella. I'll do it sometime soon – promise."

She nodded with a reluctant little sigh. What had brought that on? I was sure she hadn't said a word about phasing or anything else for that matter.

"So you do that in front of her? She knows?"

"Well, yeah," he said, suddenly awkward. "It's not a big deal."

"Uh, to most humans, Jake, that would be a very big deal."

"She won't tell anybody. She's used to . . . things."

What kind of things? I wondered, and how could he have that much confidence in a little child when adults would run shrieking to the nearest media outlet? "Would you like to come in for a while?"

"Can't. Important tribal business to take care of."

"Treaty issues?"

"More like my-dad-needs-groceries issues. But tell Goldilocks for me that three blondes were following tracks through the wilderness. The first one says they're deer tracks, the second says elk and the third says moose, but before they can agree which is right, the train runs over them." He grinned broadly.

"You know what? I'm going to let you have that pleasure next time you come over. Good to see you, Jake." I put my arms around him, and since he was still holding Nessie, we had a group hug.

He put her down, said, "Think positive, Bells," and loped off into the trees.

"See," I said to Nessie. "The very same friend." She nodded, happily.

She slipped her hand trustingly into mine as we entered the house. I did feel so much better than I had a few days ago. I knew it was probably because I'd been ignoring my own problems, but it felt so good, I refused to feel guilty.

Jacob and I were back to normal. This little girl had taken me out of myself and showed me the joy of simple things. The Cullens had trusted me completely with her, allowing us to spend long hours alone. That showed absolute faith in something about who I was underneath the confusion.

I had good reasons to feel optimistic, but behind it all I wondered what would happen when Nessie went home. Would I go back to the way I had been – or worse?

The joy I'd been experiencing was a borrowed joy. It belonged to a real mother, something I could never be, but surely, she wouldn't begrudge someone else taking pleasure in her beloved child.

Whenever I asked about Nessie going home, nobody had an answer, and that had begun to scare me. Might she suddenly vanish without a goodbye to everyone? In fact, late that night I couldn't help myself. Like a child needing to know if Santa had really come, I peeked into her room and then stole away again, assured that she was there.

I was just as antsy the next day when she was taking her nap, keeping carefully tuned into any sounds coming from her room, afraid if I got too far away someone might come for her and I wouldn't even know it.

This is a whole new kind of crazy, I told myself, and you can't afford any more of that. Still, I was the first one to her room when I heard stirring. We worked puzzles for a while and then she brought out a board game. I set down on the floor to open the box, and she disappeared.

If she'd needed my help with whatever she was doing she would have communicated that, I was sure, so I waited, and a few minutes later she was back, like a tiny ant hauling a couple of grasshoppers.

"We were summoned," Jasper explained.

"More like dragged," Emmett said, rubbing his arm as if it hurt. "When did you get so strong, Nesser?"

She flushed with pleasure, pointing imperiously at the floor, and the two of them set down cross-legged. I wondered if Alice and Rosalie got this kind of blind obedience out of them. Somehow I doubted it.

"So what are we playing?" Emmett rubbed his hands together, as always eager for a challenge.

"Candyland," I announced, opening the board. "Apparently, Nessie didn't feel I was enough competition for her."

"Well, you know we've got other games she can –"

"Emmett," Jasper said through clenched teeth, giving him a look I didn't understand. "We're playing this one, okay?"

"Oh, yeah, sure. Dealer's choice."

Nessie deftly put the cards in a stack, and before anyone could start an argument about who should go first, I said, "Nessie gets to start us off."

The first few rounds were civilized, until Emmett got lost in the Lollipop Woods. "Did you just palm a card," he accused Jasper. "A blue one? Roll up your sleeve."

"I don't think I'll do that. You man enough to make me?"

"Excuse me," I interrupted. "We're the adults here. We're supposed to be demonstrating good sportsmanship."

"Well, it's not being a good sport when you cheat," Emmett grumbled.

"Who're you calling a cheater?" Jasper said.

In desperation I turned to Nessie. "Your . . . uncles are trying to show you what it's like when people don't play nice. Isn't that right?" I said, looking daggers at the two of them.

"That's right," Emmett said. "Nobody likes people who act like that. We were just showing you."

"Right," Jasper added. "Just pretend." And for good measure he unbuttoned his cuff and rolled up his right sleeve, looking pointedly at Emmett.

His arm was a crazy quilt of intersecting scars like the one I had on mine. The sight of it seemed to settle them both down, and from then on the game progressed smoothly, although Emmett did give a fist pump and hissed "yesss" when he got to the Candy Castle first. Nessie clapped for him, and I joined in.

"Well played," Jasper said, reaching out to shake the winner's hand.

"Uh . . . thank you," Emmett returned. "Good game, everybody. As winner and still champion, I'm going out and push somebody on the swing. Any takers?"

Nessie jumped up so quickly she might have been on springs.

"All right then," he said. "Climb aboard." He crouched down, and I was astounded at the agility with which she moved up his back. "Catch you later."

"Well, that was interesting," I said with a sigh, gathering up the gingerbread men and cards. Jasper held the box for me while I placed everything inside.

"Sorry about that," he said, "but, honestly, she's seen it all before. She knows it's just the way we fool around. I wouldn't worry that she mistakes us for role models."

"Thank God for small favors. She does seem to understand so much more than most children her age."

"She's a caution, all right. Oh, and you might want this too." He reached up his left sleeve and pulled out a card with a blue square on it. "See you, later."

Gone at vampire speed with me still gaping after him. How on earth did Esme manage to play mother to those two?

It was much less challenging playing with the girls. Alice found vintage hats for all of us, and we took the tea set out to the lawn, along with assorted stuffed toys and a stack of books.

Rosalie spread a blanket on the grass, and we ate imaginary sandwiches picnic style, holding cups of imaginary tea with our pinkies carefully extended. We talked in snooty voices that we decided must befit the occasion, which tickled Nessie no end.

"I actually have firsthand knowledge of this ritual," Rose pointed out. "My mother had ladies to tea every week, and she took me with her sometimes to her friends' houses so I'd learn how it was done. This is the way they talked."

She straightened up, cleared her throat and began a droning monologue in an accent that wasn't quite British but didn't sound exactly American either. It was very funny. I would never have guessed she had such talent as a mimic.

"They talk like that in old movies," Alice said, when she'd finished. "All the high-society characters."

"Right," I chimed in. "I always wondered if it was just because the film was so old that they sounded odd."

"No, they really did," Rosalie confirmed. "And the thing is they were always polite and sweet, but they said absolutely horrid things to each other. It was all about one-upmanship. I guess today we would call it passive-aggressive."

"Watch out," Alice said behind her hand, "Rose has been into Carlisle's psychology books again."

Rosalie studying psychology? That didn't sound likely.

"But you said you wanted to be like them, right?" Alice reminded her sister.

Rose shrugged. "It's what I knew, and I wouldn't say I wanted to be like them exactly. I wanted to be better at it than they were. I wanted to be queen of the tea parties, so nobody would dare to insult me. I guess you could say they taught me everything I know."

"And we're all eternally grateful for that," Alice said, rolling her eyes.

"You know who you sound like?" Rose said laughing and then quickly switched to a cough. "Sorry," she said, "must have choked on the watercress."

"May I offer you another scone, Mrs. Bear?" Alice held out an empty plate to the button-eyed guest on her left. "And you, Miss Nessie. Would you like one lump of sugar in your tea or two?"

Nessie held up ten fingers and Alice obligingly dished out ten invisible sugar cubes. "Delightful choice."

Despite the abundance of curls stuffed into it, Nessie's cartwheel hat kept sliding down over her eyes, so she'd taken to tilting her head back and peering at us through her lashes.

"You really should have brought your camera, Alice," I pointed out.

"I know, but it's hard to do candids in such an intimate setting. That reminds me, though. We need you to pose for some photos in the dress for the contest. Can you do that tonight?"

"I don't want my picture all over the internet, Alice!"

"Well, the rest of your generation doesn't feel that way," Rosalie scoffed. "Facebook, MySpace, YouTube, Twitter, webcams."

"I don't understand why anyone wants to share their personal life or photos with total strangers. Forget it."

"Please," Alice wheedled. "I won't include your face. We just need to show what the dress would actually look like with someone wearing it, and you're the one it fits. Oh, Rose, we have to decide which of the sketches we're sending too."

"We should get on that," Rosalie agreed, jumping up. "Thank you so much for a delightful tea, Miss Nessie. Are you two staying for a while?"

I looked at Nessie and she nodded assent. "We'll hang out in the sunlight a bit longer. Who knows when we'll see it again."

Alice and Rose gathered up the tea set and took it with them, leaving one vampire, one human, and assorted stuffed animals, along with a pile of books. Nessie selected a classic edition of _Wind in the Willows_ and we stretched out on our stomachs on the blanket, leisurely examining the colorful illustrations in the natural light.

It was the kind of warm, sweet-smelling day that makes most humans drowsy. I could see Nessie slowing down. By the time I began actually reading her the story, she was leaning against me, her little body growing heavier, until I whispered her name and got no response.

Very gently, I moved her away from me, laying her on the blanket. She didn't wake, and I sat for a while just watching her expressions as she slipped into a dream. Her hair was so beautiful spread out around her face. The sun brought out an array of colors – rust and copper and bronze. It felt like silk when I gingerly reached out to touch it.

She still didn't stir. As it had before, the light struck the little locket around her neck, making it sparkle. I stared at it, wondering what might be inside. Maybe a picture or a lock of hair. Maybe a mustard seed or four-leaf clover for good luck. Maybe nothing.

It wasn't really any of my business.

I could hear so much – the drone of insects, the burbling of the river, a dozen different bird songs, even the faint sound of cars moving on the road three miles away. And I could see everything, too – the tiny dust motes dancing in the sun, a thousand different variations of green in the lawn and the forest beyond, but my eyes kept going back to the little golden circle resting on Nessie's pinafore.

Only wishful thinking had led me to imagine it held some clue to her identity. Chances were it was just a pretty piece of jewelry, probably given to her by someone she loved. There was no reason to feel this overwhelming curiosity.

I pulled my attention away to the river where the sun glinted in a way it seldom did, capping the little waves with gold. The water was so translucent that my vampire eyes caught the flash of little fish, as if they were suspended in glass. Beautiful.

Of course, if no secrets were hidden inside, then it wouldn't be intrusive to examine the locket. Didn't most girls want people to admire their jewelry? I couldn't be completely sure about that since I was never into drawing unnecessary attention to myself. I wore things that had special meaning to me.

Nessie didn't appear to be dreaming anymore. Probably in a deep sleep then. I hesitated a minute longer and then leaned over her.

My hands moved almost of their own volition, lifting the little locket without disturbing her. I touched my thumb nail to the tiny clasp and the two sides parted just a little.

Nothing fell out.

I allowed the left side to move by small, vampiric increments away from the right, as if this tentative approach could justify my meddling. When it lay against my fingertips, I tried to read the inscription inside, but it was in French. I thought I caught the word for "life." It must be a loving message from her parents. That made me feel good.

It was almost as an afterthought that I tilted back the right side. Such a little thing and yet it had the power to paralyze me on sight. Sounds vanished, sucked into a vacuum. My quick immortal brain slowed as if the information flowing into it was too heavy to absorb.

Darkness closed in fast leaving only a narrow tunnel of sight, until there was only one small thing whose existence I could swear to in the whole universe, and that thing had absolutely no place in reality.


	29. Come Into My Parlor

Chapter 29

Come Into My Parlor

(The Anton-Wield Gallery, NYC)

I picked up his thoughts as soon as he turned onto Lexington Avenue.

Nervous and predictably consumed with his own self-interest. Traffic noises increased briefly as he entered the main gallery, and then Teresa was saying, "May I help you?"

Maurice had been right. She sounded cool and professional, very different from the giddy demeanor she'd displayed around me these last two days.

"Sidney Ardwell to see Mr. Devereux. I called a little while ago."

"Yes, of course. Mr. Ardwell. I'll see if he's ready for you."

High heels clicked on the marble floor, and then she slipped through the door, backing up against it as it closed. Long legs, a stylish little black suit, her blonde hair a gleaming helmet, not unlike the flapper style still popular when I'd lived here last. Nice symmetry there.

Her eyes were wide and excited. "He's here. I was hoping you'd changed your mind about wanting me . . . to stay, I mean. I understand things may get . . . complicated, and I could stick close in case the police needed to be called . . . or something."

"Thank you, no, Teresa. I'll be fine. Please just do as we discussed. Show him in, put up the closed sign, and leave immediately."

"Are you sure?" She looked almost plaintive. Some people can't bear to be away from the action.

"Positive. Thank you for your help."

Reluctantly, she departed, and a moment later I heard her say, quite coolly again, "Right this way, please."

I shut my eyes briefly, imagining French following her past the works of rising young artists into this chamber that fairly reeked of fame and success. It would gall him, prick his ego with the reminder of all he'd failed to attain. I allowed my jaw to clench, my muscles to stiffen for just a moment before relaxing into the part I had to play.

My back was to him as he entered. I placed the last of the paintings from the walk-in vault against the wall of the private gallery and turned to watch his response. He barely glanced my way, zeroing in on the Picasso, prominently displayed on an easel, bending to scrutinize it intently.

He looked much the same as he had the last time I'd seen him. Straight dark hair slicked back in a rakish manner, an inch or two shy of my own height with an athlete's build. He was dressed in a suit, more art connoisseur than artist, as the occasion demanded.

"I understand this piece was recently acquired from Seattle. Can you tell me why they decided to put it on the market?"

I folded my arms, leaning against the wall. "Shoddy workmanship, I imagine. Some people are happy to pay good money for a decent reproduction, but not a hack job."

Instantly, he was seething with righteous anger. He tried to hide it before turning to look at me. For just a second a frisson of nameless fear flashed through his mind; then he was angry again. "It certainly looks authentic to me, and I know a thing or two about these matters."

"Hmm," I pursed my lips, pretending to consider his opinion. "Perhaps Seattle was mistaken, in which case we'll need to consult with MOMA's experts, unless, of course, you wish to purchase it outright."

"I'm not sure," he mumbled, his mind struggling for the best angle on this turn of events. All the while a sliver of unease vied for his attention. "How much are you asking?"

"$250,000."

"That's ridiculous," he blurted. "You just said it was a shoddy reproduction."

"And you corrected me. Authentic, it would bring twice that, as you well know. It's only our lack of a catalogue raisonné that allows me to make such a generous offer."

A muscle jumped at his temple and he stared at the drawing, not seeing it at all. His thoughts were in chaos, which was perhaps why the anxiety niggling in the background suddenly snagged his attention. It was pure instinct.

If he had seen me during the time he was haunting Forks, he would have recognized me immediately. All he had was that one terrified glimpse almost a century ago. That and a predator's natural suspicion, a primal alarm whispering that the game had been wrested from his control.

Fear and anxiety flooded his mind, followed by indecision about whether to attack or bluff his way further. I was ready for him in either case, but I wanted all the information I could get. My hope was that Carlisle had been right about the type of personality confronting me; it could work to my advantage.

French's gaze dropped from the drawing on the easel. He looked down at his feet for a long minute, toeing the carpet aimlessly with one expensive Italian shoe. At last, he let out a breath that was almost a laugh and turned to face me with a sardonic smile. "I'm guessing, I've missed the real point of this little rendezvous. Is this what they mean when they talk about 'going to meet your maker?'"

I didn't answer, and it increased his disquiet.

"Well, you could have just called me out at high noon – the middle of Times Square, your wretched little village of Forks. You didn't have to go to so much trouble."

"I believe you went to considerably more."

"That's true I suppose, but I enjoyed it all so thoroughly." His smile was malignant. "And I'm happy to see that the result made such an impression on you. I couldn't be sure, you know. That's the downside of my singular power. It's seldom a good idea to stick around and see the results for myself. I can only hope for the best, but I'm guessing they were sufficiently annoying, given this elaborate trap."

"You supplied the bait yourself."

"So I see." He frowned at the drawing for a moment. "Though I don't quite grasp the connection. The Seattle thing was really just a way of entertaining myself while I waited for the best time to make my move. It had nothing to do with my real mission, and yet here we are in the same room."

I wasn't about to enlighten him, and I wasn't ready to address the main issue. As much as I needed to get to it, I hated the thought of discussing Bella with him at all. I wasn't completely sure what I would do if he even spoke her name. "How did you get your little craft project past the assessors at the museum?"

He scowled. "There was only one – a supposed expert on cubism, but I did my homework. The man had a debt problem. A mere $50,000 convinced him he was wrong about the watermark. The drawing itself was flawless. I don't make the kind of mistakes they look for – lifting the charcoal off the page to check the original before completing a line. That's a dead giveaway next to Picasso's bold strokes."

"I'll remember that, if I ever take up forgery."

"As if you could," he sneered. "You have no idea what I could have accomplished if you hadn't come along that night."

So that was the source of his hatred – not that I'd made him a monster, but that I'd interfered with his grandiose plans. Interesting. "It doesn't seem to have damaged your career trajectory."

"Now you're showing your ignorance, and you call yourself an art expert."

"Actually, I don't. My interest is purely as an amateur."

"Well, then allow me to enlighten you." He was practically growling. A nervous tic was just discernable at the corner of his mouth. Clearly, he had an even shorter fuse than I did, or perhaps he'd just never bothered to discipline the ferocity. "The man I killed that night – I was planning to marry his daughter. I did my homework back then, too, and she was set to come into a tidy sum despite the depression, enough that I could stop living hand to mouth and concentrate on my work.

"Do you know how long it takes to create a flawless oil painting, one good enough to fool the curator of a decent museum? I had one back then that I'd worked on for months, in between the struggle to make ends meet. There wasn't a museum in the country that wouldn't have taken it for a Constable and paid handsomely, but I don't know what became of it, because by the time I was sane enough to return to my studio, everything was gone – stolen or sold by my landlord for back rent."

"You might have had a difficult time selling _Wivenhoe Park_ in this country, considering the National Gallery already had one."

That rattled him.

I may be good at repressing things I don't want to think about, but I do have a photographic memory, and though I hadn't known the title of the forgery when I'd seen it in his studio, I'd been able to put a name to it years later.

French was dying to know where I got that information, but he wasn't going to give me the satisfaction of asking. "My point," he continued through clenched teeth, "was that in the '30s, if a work looked genuine, they bought it. Today, it's impossible. With all the forensic tests new acquisitions are subjected to, an expert can all but tell you the day and time a work was executed, so I'm forced to do business with nouveau riche types too paranoid to allow what they view as a bargain to be appraised by someone who may outbid them.

"Or I have to stick to minor sketches like this," he nodded toward the easel, his lip curled in disdain. "That was my time, my opportunity, and you stole it from me." If he was expecting an apology, he didn't get it. I continued to regard him, unimpressed. "Not to mention you turned me into a killer."

"I was a few seconds too late to claim that distinction. Unless you already had a history of preying on the helpless."

"No, that was my first, and it was a strategic move, unlike the hundreds that followed, thanks to you. Every one of those is as much on your conscience as mine. I imagine that's harder on you than it is on me, since I never much fancied having one. I suspect you're not so lucky." His dark eyes flashed with cunning. "Do you remember an immortal called Frederick Anders?"

I did. "Are you telling me, you killed him too?" I said, as the anger rippled low in my belly.

"No, certainly not. I ran into him in Italy back in the '70s. We discovered we'd both been living in New York around the same time, and in comparing notes, your name came up. He told me quite a lot about you."

"He didn't know a lot about me."

"He knew enough. He said you were a born idealist, although you hadn't recognized it yet."

"Clearly, he was wrong."

"Not really. It was that little tidbit of information that eventually led me to finding you. You made quite an impression on Anders in your brief meeting. He said he thought you'd be the type to fight against your predatory nature and possibly succeed. I had no idea what that might mean at the time, but I never forgot it.

"Then a few years ago I heard of a maverick coven who had sworn off human blood. At first I found it amusing. Our lot in life is difficult enough without throwing masochism into the mix, but then I thought how attractive that might seem to someone into self-denial. I paid a little visit to Alaska."

I continued to regard him impassively.

"I stayed on the outskirts, observing and was very disappointed to find no one who matched your description."

"What description was that?"

"Oh, didn't I say? Well, I returned to New York from Europe in the spring of 1934 not knowing whether it was safe for me to be seen there. My hope was that someone else had been blamed for the old man's death, but my impressions of that night were so confused. I couldn't be sure I hadn't been named a suspect.

"Evelyn Weiss was long gone, but after a little bit of detective work, I located her former housekeeper – a Mrs. Dawes. She'd only seen me once when I was sweet-talking Evelyn on her front stoop, but I couldn't take the chance that she'd remember me.

"That was the first time I thought of adopting some sort of disguise, and I quite enjoyed it. After all, that's my forte – passing one thing off as something else entirely. I merely used myself as the canvas. Let's see, it was brown hair that time and a neat Van Dyke. I also spoke with a lisp – very disarming to the older women.

"She was living in Murray Hill as a companion to an invalid. I introduced myself as a former friend from Danbury who'd been living abroad and had just heard of Mr. Weiss's unfortunate demise. She was very accommodating, invited me in for a cup of coffee, and told me the whole tragic tale.

"I was, of course, most interested in the part about me. Had they caught the villain, I asked her, but she didn't know. She was more enthralled with her story of the hero who'd appeared on the spot, as if by magic, to take the situation in hand."

I remained silent. It was true what Carlisle had said about psychopaths. He was obsessed with his own cleverness. He couldn't resist laying it out for me.

"She said he was a friend of Evelyn's named Edward Masen. I said perhaps I knew him and asked for a description. That's when things really got interesting. Young, she said, very pale and strikingly handsome. He'd picked up poor Mr. Weiss's body and carried it inside as if it weighed nothing at all. And oddly – she was sure that this must have been an illusion brought on by the night's shocking events – his eyes appeared to be blood red.

"I commiserated with her a bit longer, then gave her a general delivery address where I could always be reached in case she ran into this Masen again. I'd like to shake his hand, I told her, and thank him for helping my dear friend Evelyn in her moment of need." French grinned, delighted with himself.

"I don't believe in coincidences. The fact that someone answering the description of a vampire, one who's recently fed, should turn up within minutes and less than a block away from the place where I was attacked told me everything I needed to know.

"Unfortunately, the information led nowhere at the time. Fast forward another forty years and I happen upon Frederick Anders. He too, has a story of a vampire he met during that same general time period. Such a small world. Again, I'm told a romanticized version of who this Edward Masen is, only in Anders case, he sees you as a man at war with himself, someone who'd search for a way to hobble his worst instincts.

"Another two decades pass in which I have no clue how to find you, and suddenly there's a rumor of this coven in Alaska. Have you noticed Denali is an anagram for 'denial'? I was so certain you'd be there and utterly crushed when you weren't.

"I did contrive to meet one of the resident vampires. Well, to be more accurate, she was about to attack me, but I convinced her I was only looking for a better, more peaceful way of life, though such a remote location didn't appeal to me.

"Imagine my excitement, when she offered the information that there was another clan with the same credo living closer to civilization. Four men and three women – this was before you met your Bella – and all changed when they were quite young. Very helpful woman, and very ancient, I think. I should make it a point to go back there and get closer acquainted with Irina."

"Good luck with that," I said. "She's dead."

"Dead?"

It's a shocking announcement in any circumstances, but for a vampire to hear it applied to another, one older and more powerful than himself, it is viscerally jolting, rendering the term "immortal" meaningless. French was definitely shaken.

"How could that happen?"

I shrugged. "Volturi. They take exception to our kind attracting unwanted attention. Someone involved in high-profile criminal activities on two continents, for instance."

"You can't fool me, Masen, or is it Cullen? You don't want the Volturi or anyone else interfering with your plan for vengeance. You want to rip me apart with your own hands."

"You're a mind-reader," I said, sarcastically, but with a purpose. I didn't know how much Irina had told him, but his lack of reaction to the word set my mind at ease.

"No, just several steps ahead of you, that's all." He wandered over to a Utrillo and brought a finger close to the unprotected surface.

"Don't touch that," I said, allowing menace into my voice.

"Touch it? I could duplicate it!" he hissed, letting his hatred show for the first time. "Who are you to interfere with genius? With Evelyn's money – in the right circles – I could have made a killing _and_ had the leisure to find my own style. I used to imagine it – an original Rupert French hanging next to an old master, which unbeknownst to anyone but me, would also be my own creation. People streaming into the Prado or Uffizi, marveling at them both, too naïve to see that they were the work of one talent."

If nothing else, he'd banished my lingering fear of being a narcissist. Even in my most arrogant moods I couldn't approach him for self-aggrandizement. "I'm surprised you couldn't find another young woman with money among all those naïve people."

"You make it sound like I didn't have feelings for Evelyn. I did. We could have been very happy together." He sounded hurt, and even more to the point, I could see in his thoughts that he'd convinced himself it was true. "She wouldn't have given me the trouble other women have, nosing around, always wanting to see what I've painted. If our courtship had been allowed to progress normally, none of this would have happened."

"Killing her father – you consider that a courtship ritual?"

"He was interfering too," he scowled, nostrils flaring. "He deserved what he got."

"As did you," I said mildly.

"Well, if you thought so, you should have finished it!"

Now we were getting into sensitive territory, but I couldn't let him see that. "I thought I had. It was a mistake."

"Oh, well now you're making me feel bad – like an unwanted child. I could tell you what it was like for me – the agony, not knowing what the hell was happening – but you'd enjoy hearing it, wouldn't you?"

He wasn't as smart as he thought, if he believed that. I dreaded a detailed account of what I'd set in motion, although I probably deserved to hear it. The essential thing was to remain in control of the situation and keep my focus on the only goal that mattered.

My silence goaded him into moving again. He circled the room, pretending an interest in the pictures retrieved from the vault, now leaning against the walls in a jarring mix of eras and styles, their only uniting theme talent and the respect it inspired in monetary value.

"How'd that get in here?" He gestured at a portrait by a minor British painter. "Wealth doesn't buy brains, does it? Or taste?"

"Is that why you came – to discuss the shortcomings of art patrons?"

"You know perfectly well why I came. To find out what went wrong with that!" He pointed at the Picasso. "But I assume you have your own agenda. Why the hell don't you get on with it?"

"You're oddly impatient for an artist."

"Impatient?" he flared, stomping back toward me. "You think it doesn't take patience to wait 77 years for revenge? You think I wasn't dying to come at you the minute Irina gave me a clue about where you were? But I didn't do it. I had no way of knowing how friendly the Denali bunch was with the Washington coven. If Irina mentioned a strange vampire had come around asking questions, it could put you on your guard, so I waited.

"And then a little over a year ago, I was all set to move in on your rumored location, ready to see for myself if you were one of these Cullens, ready to figure out the most effective way of utterly ruining you, and what happens? There's some kind of serial killer in the area! I understand Seattle's had its share of that kind of thing, but it was perfectly clear to me there were vamps involved. I wasn't about to walk into a crime scene that was likely to attract everybody from the FBI to the Volturi."

"You were afraid."

"I was careful. Even when I got to Forks, I steered clear of the area where the respected Dr. Cullen supposedly lived. I went to great lengths not to leave my scent where a houseful of immortals might find it. Mostly I hung around the scintillating midtown area," he said sarcastically. "Talk about no nightlife – there's no day life there either, as far as I could tell. Stultifying atmosphere, but there's one thing small towns are good for – gossip, and that's what I needed to pick up.

"I found the mother lode at the post office. Odious woman. I may be in love with her. It was clear to me within two minutes what kind of person she was, so I asked her to mail a postcard for me – to my dear old mother in Boise. I wrote that I'd made another killing on the commodities market and I'd be sending her the profits soon. Kisses to my dear aunties and the cat, etc. I knew she'd read it, and the next time I came in, she couldn't wait to blab everything she knew to her new best friend.

"I told her I'd gone to elementary school with a boy named Edward Cullen. She confirmed not only that you were there, but that you'd been dating a local girl called Bella. There was a rumor that you'd actually married her, though I hadn't heard it from her, and so on."

_Well, damn_. There'd been a time shortly after coming to Forks High that I'd sat in class with Jessica Stanley's fantasies assaulting my brain and fervently wished the whole family would relocate to Outer Mongolia. Clearly, I should never have given up on that dream.

"After that, it was easy – tedious – but easy," French went on. "I hung around, and one day I not only caught wind of a Cullen but the very one I most wanted to find. I followed her into the Department of Motor Vehicles, took a good whiff of her scent, got her to say something so I'd know her voice, and then it was just a matter of roaming the woods between the Cullen home and town until I found her alone."

Tension wound through my body at the image that created. Bella alone. Innocent. Unaware of the evil stalking her.

"She didn't make it easy for me. I'll give her that. I had to throw everything in the book at her before I found something that would get her to stay and listen long enough for my other talent to do its work."

What I was feeling was coming very close to manifesting itself in my posture, in the low growl building on its own, in the contempt that waited to twist my bland expression into something that would freeze him where he stood.

My trap. My timetable. There was more I needed to learn. I directed the conversation away from Bella. "How did you discover that you had this new . . . talent?"

As I hoped, he couldn't resist elaborating. "Only by accident. I had an acquaintance, a painter in Vienna. At that time I was trying to find my own artistic voice, but even my failed experiments were better than anything he ever completed.

"Then one night he came to my door, giddy with excitement. He'd sold one of his tiresome seascapes, and the buyer was commissioning him to do another. Furthermore, he'd promised to introduce this hack to a number of friends who made it their business to promote promising young artists.

"He was like a child, going on and on about his good fortune. I sat there staring at him, hating the injustice of it and wishing I could suck all the joy and acclamation out of him as easily as I could take his blood. All I felt, however, was envy and anger.

"Some days later, it occurred to me that he might be useful. If I acted more enthusiastic about his stroke of luck and fawned a bit, he might introduce me to some of his new friends. Once they saw what I had to offer, I was sure they'd soon forget his pedestrian efforts in favor of supporting me. So I went around to his place. The first thing I saw when he let me in was that god-awful seascape lying on the hearth.

"'I thought you were supposed to deliver that to the buyer,' I told him.

"He looked at me, even more dully than usual, and repeated, 'Buyer?' as if he had no idea what I was talking about.

"'What happened to your commission and all those wealthy patrons?'

"'You're not funny, French,' he told me and just sat there like he might never move again.

"I wondered if he'd been drinking, but there was no evidence of it. I stood looking at him, waiting for some kind of explanation and finally he spoke again in the same heavy tone.

"'You know, all my life I've never wanted to do anything but paint. My father gave me hell for it. Told me to stop playing the fool and get on with the family business, but I knew my calling. I've lived like this for fifteen years, barely getting by, and for what?'

"'You were doing what you loved,' I ventured, watching his face curiously.

"'I'm no good at it. I never was, and I'm not going to get any better. It's time I faced facts. The old man always said I'd come crawling back someday, back to an elegant life in the plumbing trade. Seems like he was right.'

"Well, I've never been one to hang around people who depress me, so I left, mulling over his odd change of mood. It was almost as though I'd willed him into it, like I'd been granted a wish that magically came true, not that I seriously believed that at the time.

"A few weeks later, I had a rather belligerent visit from my landlord, Herr Gruber, who had gotten it into his head that three months was too long to wait for a rent payment. The bastard was threatening to evict me. I didn't really have a good argument for him and mostly to distract myself, since killing a man in my own place would create all kinds of headaches, I looked into his eyes and willed him to give up – what? I didn't know, but I felt as if I was actually drawing something out of him.

"I did that for several minutes while he railed at me, and gradually he seemed to run out of steam. His words faltered. He began losing his train of thought. Finally, he mumbled a half-hearted threat and left. I put it down to the disquieting effect a vampire can have on a mortal and just felt glad for the reprieve.

"Some time later, however, Frau Gruber paid me a call. A very pretty girl – not stunning like your Bella," he threw me a sly glance out of the corner of his eye to see if I'd react to that.

I denied him the pleasure.

"She was all supplication, promising me that if I would only pay half of what was owed on the rent, she would allow me to continue living there at the same reduced fee. I found that very interesting, so I poured out a bit of sherry along with some continental charm, and pretty soon she was blubbering about her troubles.

"Dear Franz had returned home one night – perhaps you can guess which one – to look at her and the children as if they were no more than furniture. Her efforts to draw him out had been futile, and the next day he'd left, claiming he wanted to be alone. She had tracked him down a week later, children in tow, only to be rebuffed, despite the weeping of the little girl and the boy's pleas for papa to come back home.

"I suppose he continued to collect the rents on his other properties, but he never came back to the house where he'd lived, and Frau Gruber could scarcely support her family on what she got from me. I believe she was reduced to entertaining gentleman upstairs in the wee hours of the night.

"Sad and very odd, when you consider that Franz had doted on them all, bringing his wife flowers and trinkets, taking her to the gastgarten every week. He was forever playing with the children in the street, showing them off when he went round to the other tenants. They were everything and then they were nothing.

"The only correlation I could see with the two incidents was that both men had abandoned the thing that had been most central to their lives. I certainly hadn't been doing anything more than wishing them both to the devil. I didn't even know if this was an ability all immortals shared, seeing as how my own creator hadn't seen fit to stay around and mentor me."

Another attempt to provoke a reaction, which just made it all the easier for me to continue regarding him placidly. Only one of us was going to know what the other was thinking.

"I needed to test it again – to see if this was really a power that I could control. There was an old priest in the neighborhood, used to go around ministering to the poor day in and day out, bringing them blankets, food he could beg from the cafes, finding them small jobs. His flock had him practically canonized already, so I paid a visit to his shabby little kirche in hopes of easing my troubled soul.

"He was most earnest in his efforts to save me, while I concentrated on his rheumy eyes, projecting my will into his thoughts. When he began to wander off in his platitudes, I couldn't tell if it was my doing or simply senility. He started mumbling about a crisis of faith he'd had as a young man, when he'd briefly questioned the very existence of God, which I considered a rather poor sales pitch when trying to convert the heathen, so I left.

"But that was the end of his missionary efforts. The only thing he fed after that day was the filthy pigeons. I'm told he also developed a nasty habit of accusing anyone who came to him for help of being an emissary from Satan, but I can't swear to the truth of it.

"After that, I accepted the fact that I had a bizarre new talent, although I was no closer to understanding how it worked. It seemed I didn't even have to know anything about the victim I chose. Whatever they cherished most would simply cease to matter, or worse – become an object of suspicion or scorn.

"So, tell me, how did I do with your charming Bella? Indifference or all-out hostility?"

"She's terrified of me," I answered bluntly.

"Really?" He didn't try to hide his surprise or his elation. "Oh, that's a new one! You'll forgive me if I revel in the picture that creates. I like to file these things away for future reference. In the beginning, I thought I was actually reaching into people's minds, extracting their thoughts or destroying them, but gradually I came to realize that what it works on is emotions.

"Whatever the victim is most passionate about – those are the feelings affected, turned upside down, if you will. And because the brain relies on logic, it can no longer reconcile the things it knows with these new emotions. It simply blocks out any memory that doesn't fit with what the victim is feeling so intensely.

"In short, they do it to themselves. It's really very elegant, though I admit to being a little disappointed that I can't get into people's heads. That would be a skill worth having – to know what others are thinking."

At the moment, I was especially glad we didn't share that ability since I was indulging in a vision of my boot heel grinding into his supercilious face. It pleased the monster and kept him entertained while I considered this new information.

"What's interesting about your situation," French continued, as if we were colleagues discussing a business strategy, "is that it means she must have felt extraordinarily safe with you before our encounter. That's very odd, don't you think? Our kind doesn't tend to trust each other, no matter what the relationship. How did you manage that?"

I didn't answer, but his anxiety drove him to fill up the empty air. "I could tell you some very amusing stories about people I've toyed with over the decades."

The man was a modern-day Scheherazade, spinning out his stories in an effort to hold off the coming confrontation. Well, I wouldn't make him wait much longer. I probably had the only useful information I was going to get, except for the one question I dreaded asking.

"You're probably wondering how I discovered my mind trick would work on immortals as well as humans," he went on. "There was this luscious little vamp in Paris, hotbed of our kind by the way, in case you've never been there. I was lusting after her, but she had a thing for this Viking type down from Bergen.

"So one night I decided to pour out my feelings to her while plundering her foolish little heart. Sure enough, her obsession turned off like a light, but the joke was on me. She was no more attracted to me than she'd ever been. Quite an amusing little farce, don't you think?"

"A regular _Midsummer Night's Dream_."

"Oh, you can stand there looking all cool and superior," he scoffed, "but you haven't thought this through very carefully."

Actually, what I was doing was concentrating. It wasn't easy listening to everything he said in hope of finding something useful while monitoring the thoughts slithering across the back of his mind, thoughts of escaping, attacking, bargaining.

His most formidable weapon was useless here, not only because I was prepared to cut him off the second he thought of resorting to it, but because it would do nothing to help in his present situation. Working on my emotions would only render the vengeance he exulted in meaningless. If I were unaware that Bella was the be-all and end-all of my existence, why would I care that she'd turned away from me?

_Hoist with your own petard_, I thought, glad to see the gods of irony were still hard at work.

He really was very skittish. Although he had the ability of all our kind to remain motionless, I had the sense that every nerve in his body was twitching just beneath the marble surface of his skin.

"You realize what's going to happen to all this lovely art," he waved his hand around the room. From this angle I could only see the Utrillo, a Renoir, and a Rothko, as if that wasn't impressive enough. "One vampire can make an unholy mess when he goes in for the kill. Two of them, fighting to the death, could wipe out a fortune in less than a minute."

"Then you'll have to win, won't you, so you can replace them all?"

His expression was confident. His thoughts – not so much, so he kept talking. "You want to hear something funny? That right there – he's the only one I've never been able to mimic." He gestured, wild-eyed at the wall behind me, which I knew was dominated by a Jackson Pollack. "Do you know his No. 5 is valued at $140,000,000? It's a joke. Throwing paint at a canvas. He wasn't even a craftsman."

"No, but he was an artist. It's a distinction that's apparently beyond you."

That hit him where it hurt. His lips pulled back from his teeth and an involuntary growl rumbled through the room. "And what are you?" he hissed. "A disgrace to immortals everywhere, no taste for human blood."

"One bad meal can do that."

He was practically thrumming with the urge to attack, but he was smart enough to know my needling was designed to provoke, and that made him distrust my motives.

"You've played hell with my social life, too, you know," he said, still playing for time. "What's the first thing a vampire asks when he meets another of his kind? When were you changed and by who. You think I like admitting my creator chases animals? I have to lie just to save face."

"Sorry to compromise your otherwise spotless integrity." I unfolded my arms long enough to take a look at the Rolex on my wrist, then returned to the same casual position. There was actually no point to it, except to give him something else to be nervous about.

"What, are you expecting reinforcements?" His dark eyes darted to the only exit.

"I didn't need them the first time we met. I won't need them now."

"Cocky bastard," he spluttered. "I was human then. Of course, I couldn't fight you. In case it hasn't occurred to you, I've been killing people for decades now. I'm guessing you've lost your edge in that department with all the abstinence mumbo-jumbo. No doubt your skills in that area have gotten a trifle rusty."

"You're right," I conceded. "My last attempt at killing a human went horribly wrong. Fortunately, I've had recent experience destroying vampires."

He was floundering again, searching for another way to fend off the battle. He had to have that one last bargaining chip. Everything depended on it. Everything.

"You realize, if you kill me, you'll never get your Bella back. She'll continue to be afraid of you and keep her distance or whatever the memories left in her head have driven her to do. And that is why we're here, isn't it? You can't bear it, can you? That's why you've engineered this confrontation."

Here it was, and the question had to be asked at last. "Can you reverse it?"

For the first time, he sensed the upper hand was his. "Of course, I can," he said glibly. "I do it all the time, when someone wins their way back into my good graces. Naturally, it depends on what you might have to offer in return."

My eyes closed briefly, involuntarily, and when I opened them, I still saw nothing but darkness. He was lying. He had never reversed it. Not even once.

Ever.

For a moment scarlet threatened to overwhelm the blackness enveloping me. I wanted nothing so much as to feel my fingers around his throat, to savage him like the animal I so clearly had never ceased to be.

Blindly, I searched for some shred of hope to regain my balance and found it in the only possibility that still remained. He had never undone the effects of his insidious gift, but he had also never tried. When everything's at stake, nothing is too insignificant to hold onto.

My own voice surprised me, still sounding cool and even. "You seem to be inordinately fond of money."

"Spoken like a man who has too much of it to care," he said bitterly. "I see your setup here. Somebody's trusting you with a king's ransom in valuable art. They wouldn't do that unless you had the collateral to back it up. And that suit you're wearing – who attends a death match wearing Valentino? I imagine you could get your hands on a modest million without arousing suspicion. Is your little Bella worth that much to you? Why do you care what she thinks of you anyway? She's yours isn't she to do with what you want? And I suspect you could walk out onto Lexington Avenue right now and get any woman – immortal or disposable."

Only the realization that I was looking at the most degenerate individual I'd ever encountered kept my brain engaged enough to stop me from eviscerating him. "So that's your price – a million dollars?"

"Yeah, sure, why not? How soon can you get it here?"

"I pay for results, not rhetoric."

"Oh, no, no, no, no," he chanted through a sneer. "You forget, I'm the one with the ace up my sleeve. If I do what you ask, what's to stop you from killing me afterwards? Or trying to anyway," he added with bravado. "No money upfront, no incentive for me to cooperate."

He had to take that stance, especially since he suspected what I asked was impossible. I could only welcome the end of this charade. "May I see it?" I asked politely.

"See what?" He frowned at me, suspicious.

"That ace you have," I answered at the same moment my hand shot out. His shriek began even before my other fist smashed into his face with such momentum that it carried him through the open door and into the back wall of the vault with an impact that shook the paintings almost off their hangers.

He was still shrieking when I slammed it shut and went in search of a Sharpie.


	30. Theories

Chapter 30

Theories

I sat stone still, the golden circle melded to my fingers. Beneath the numbness, mindless panic was welling up again, like it had when I'd seen the other picture, when I'd come face to face with . . . him. I couldn't let it out. I couldn't start shrieking like a bimbo in a slasher movie with this trusting child sleeping beside me.

_Think_, I ordered myself_, _but that was useless. How could you make sense of the impossible? Instead, I concentrated on getting my body to obey, snapping the locket shut, forcing my shaking hand to lay it gently against Nessie's smocked pinafore.

Waves of emotion, alternately hot and cold, pricked at my nerves. I rubbed my arms in an effort to fight the sensation, knowing I had to get away from here before I lost it completely. But how? I couldn't leave Nessie, yet I couldn't trust myself to stay with hysteria threatening to erupt at any minute.

A flash of movement caught my eye up at the house, and it was as if a guardian angel had appeared when I needed one most. Emmett was stuffing something into a trash can near the greenhouse. I didn't dare call out, but I waved my arms frantically in his direction. He noticed and almost in the same instant was at my side.

"What?" he whispered, bending down with a cautious glance at Nessie.

"I need you to do me a favor," I said, amazed at the normalcy I managed to force into my voice. "Can you sit with Nessie and take her back to the house when she wakes up?"

"Yeah, sure," he said, but his brow was furrowed. "Why? What's the matter?"

"Nothing. I just remembered something I have to take care of. Just stay with her – please. I'll be back later."

I jumped up before he could ask anything else, trying with all my might not to let the panic show, moving quickly but not so much that he'd be suspicious.

As soon as I reached the shelter of the trees, I picked up speed, putting distance between me and the house before I collapsed against a giant redwood and sank to the ground, clasping my arms around my knees. I huffed out big gulps of air, trying to depressurize the rising tide inside.

Feelings were my enemy now. Something was very wrong, more wrong than I'd suspected. I couldn't afford to react. I had to make sense of what I'd seen. It wasn't just about me or even the rest of the Cullens anymore.

It was about a vulnerable little girl. I felt very protective of her. No one else did – not when it came to recognizing where the real danger lay. They might humor me in my antipathy to the demon, but it was clear they didn't take my warnings seriously, and if he were to return, they'd probably think nothing of letting him interact with Nessie. I was the only one who could help her. It was up to me to figure out what was going on.

Such a little thing – that picture – and yet it seemed to contain all the questions in the world. There was no way the three of us – me, Nessie and the demon – could be in the same photograph. It never happened.

Unless . . .

Eagerly I clutched at the memory. Just the other night Emmett had called me over to his computer, roaring with laughter at a webpage he'd found. Manips, he'd called them – famous people in weird combinations or bizarre settings. The pictures looked real but they weren't. They were cobbled together from totally different photographs.

But why on earth would somebody do that? I felt the straw I was clutching slip from my grasp. It wasn't a funny image, not a joke. Why go to all that trouble just to create something that didn't make sense, and why would Nessie be wearing it in a locket every day?

I clutched my knees tighter to my chest, wishing my brain was working better. There had to be a logical explanation. I was just too messed up to see it. Step back, I told myself. Be objective. If I couldn't make sense of the whole, maybe I should break it down – like a frustrating math problem, one factor at a time.

Okay, why would Nessie have a picture of the demon? Already, I was stumped. Why would she have a picture of me – someone she'd only met days ago? For that matter, it didn't make sense that she'd be wearing a picture of herself.

_Arrgh!_ I pounded my leg in frustration. _Start again_. Maybe in combinations of two. Nessie and the demon. Hard as it was for me to feel comfortable with that image, it was possible. With all the time the little girl had apparently spent at the Cullens', she was bound to have known him – or thought she did. Older and wiser people had made that same mistake.

I'd never seen him smile before, but he was smiling in the picture. They had a name for that kind of smile – _killer_, because it slipped through the defenses of almost any breathing female. You could hardly blame a trusting little girl for being charmed.

I took a deep breath. Him and me. Obviously, that was possible as well. Just because I couldn't remember it or didn't want to, didn't mean it hadn't happened. Everyone insisted we'd been spending time together almost since I arrived in Forks, so yes, someone could have snapped a picture of the two of us.

I'd thought any equation that included the demon would be the hardest to tackle, but that wasn't even true. The hardest was trying to put Nessie and me together. If I'd actually known her before these last few days, why didn't I remember?

Nothing else about my erratic memory had worked that way. All I'd needed was to see someone I knew from before and the sense of familiarity returned – really quickly in the case of Alice. It had taken a little while with Rosalie. Jacob had been completely AWOL from my thoughts for a week or two, and yet the history we had together started coming back as soon as we met. Nobody who'd been there would soon forget what happened when the demon and I were brought face to face.

So why should Nessie be the only person who felt like a complete stranger, if, in fact, we'd met before?

It had started to rain, but I didn't move, determined to find the logic in something that defied it.

That wasn't completely true, that Nessie felt like a stranger. I'd been drawn to her from the beginning, but that was all the more reason fond memories should have popped up as soon as I saw her. Why didn't they? What was it about her that stood in the way?

I had no source of information except that tiny picture. It might have more to tell me, if only I was brave enough to look, and I didn't need it in front of me to do that. It was burned into my brain in exquisite detail, but the turmoil inside warned me of impending horror in that direction. When I tried to concentrate on it, my whole body protested with a rush of nervous energy that wouldn't let me remain still.

I jumped up, pushing my dripping hair out of my face, and began to run again, farther away from the house that suddenly seemed less like a place of refuge than the center of a web, a web whose every strand held a secret. Someone there was keeping things from me; maybe they all were, but why?

The rain increased. It didn't cool the emotions boiling inside, and the running didn't exhaust me like I wished it would, so I slowed, beating my way through the dripping ferns away from the forest path to sink down again on the leeward side of a massive Sitka spruce, hidden from the world.

But not from myself.

It was stupid to pretend you could run away from problems. If I didn't face mine, there was no way I'd be able to protect Nessie. No one else was even looking in the right direction. I balled my hands into fists and shut my eyes, willing the photograph to come into stark focus behind my lids.

With all the objectivity I could muster, I took in the whole. Truthfully? It looked like one of those pictures manufacturers put in the frames or wallets they wanted to sell, a happy, idealized image designed to make you feel good about purchasing their product.

All three of us were smiling. In fact, Nessie looked like she'd been snapped in mid-giggle. We sat very close together. It wasn't one of Alice's artistic black and whites. This appeared to have been taken with a regular little camera like anyone might have, and it was in color.

The color.

An involuntary gasp caught in my throat. That was what had threatened to unhinge me, what I couldn't acknowledge. Of course, I'd seen Nessie's unusual hair color before, seen it and repressed it. Here with the two of them in the same light it was undeniable. So her hair was curly, and his licked out from his face like flames. The sun brought out the same array of bronze and copper in both of them. It was undeniable.

And there was more. Her face, her adorable childish face. I didn't see how it could be. His features were chiseled, purely masculine and yet there was an echo of them plain as day in Nessie's. Softened, feminized, but unmistakable when you saw them close together.

I ignored the whimper that slipped from my lips. Stay objective, I warned myself. You have to find the truth. The truth was that if I'd happened on these two anywhere, I would have immediately known they were related.

Not "known," I corrected myself, "assumed," because of course they couldn't be. I clutched at my rain-soaked hair in frustration. Why was it even my attempts at being rational were always met by some obstacle?

A roar ripped through my concentration, and somewhere on the horizon a giant fir burst into flame. Its slender trunk split apart, sending half of it tumbling into the surrounding trees.

All I needed was cheesy special effects to make this task I'd set myself even more unnerving. Sitting in a forest of towering lightning magnets wasn't the smartest choice, even for an immortal, but I felt frozen in place.

Fact: immortals could not reproduce.

Alice had just reconfirmed that, although it was one of those things I already knew. Well, vampires weren't born that way. We all had to have human relatives somewhere along the line. Carlisle had told me Edward was the first person he'd transformed – nearly a hundred years ago, so how could he possibly have any living relations?

Don't be dense, I told myself. They didn't have to be contemporaries. Had he had brothers and sisters? I couldn't recall Carlisle mentioning them, but it didn't mean they hadn't existed. Somewhere there could be great nieces and nephews, cousins many times removed that were still part of his human family, and everyone knew that genetics could pop out generations down the line to produce eerie similarities between the living and the long dead – or undead.

That was the first possibility that had made sense, and the fact that something still could calmed me a little. The Cullens with their endless resources could easily keep track of generations if they wanted to. Maybe Edward had gotten wind of some descendant's orphaned child and stepped in to take her.

I'd been looking in the wrong direction when I pounced on Alice's status as an aunt. Not Rosalie and Emmett at all, but Edward. Now that I'd recognized the resemblance between him and Nessie, there was no going back.

But it was an unwelcome truth, a really frightening one. Why? Why had he done it? What did a seventeen-year-old guy want with a baby? It was Rosalie who longed for a child, and she and Emmett both were clearly crazy about Nessie, so the natural thing to do in the situation I imagined was to bring her under the protection of the Cullens with Rose and Em as her parents.

But it wasn't their pictures she had in her locket. It was his.

Had he insisted on staking his claim so that he'd have another innocent soul to toy with, to control for his own purposes? The thought made my already cool skin feel ice-cold. He hadn't warped her yet, I was sure of that. Nessie was warm and trusting, despite her silence.

Or had he done something to make her afraid to talk?

That thought hurt so much, I couldn't bear it, but I didn't have to for very long. Truthfully, she didn't seem at all insecure or fearful, and none of the Cullens would have allowed him to harm her.

More than that, the picture proved I'd spent time around the two of them as well. As little as I knew of myself these days, I knew I'd never let anyone mistreat a child. The demon might have some bizarre power over me, but no way would I stand for him manipulating someone so young and helpless.

That conviction gave me a little peace of mind, but it led into such a tangle of impossibility that I felt trapped again. So I was wacky enough to forget I'd even met Nessie. What about her? Why didn't she remember me? Try as I might, I couldn't make it all fit together.

A blast of rain-soaked wind blew through the trees, snapping off a good-sized branch just yards away. Maybe that's what I needed – for some large object to fall on my head, jiggling my brain back into place. It sure wasn't doing me much good in its present state.

Okay. Nessie and I had to have seen each other at least once for that photograph to exist. Never mind the casual intimacy the pose implied. Why didn't she remember me either? Oh, God. I hoped it didn't mean we had more in common than I'd suspected – that she had a mental issue not so different from mine!

I wished I hadn't opened the locket. I was glad I had. If only it had held a picture of Emmett and Rosalie, I could have dealt with the scenario that implied, even though it would mean the entire family had lied to me.

Nessie would have still been at risk, as they all were, but she would have had someone standing between her and the demon. As it was, he could take her away at any time from the protection of the other Cullens. He could isolate her somewhere like he'd apparently tried to do to me, molding her into a compliant accomplice like me or a devious monster like himself.

I'd made the facts fit – sort of – but it still left too much unexplained. If the demon meant to keep her under his influence, then why had he left her behind when he'd abandoned Forks?

He alone was responsible for setting off the impossibly strong emotions that threatened me. Only something connecting Nessie irrevocably to him could account for the extreme reaction of forgetting her existence. Maybe all my reading of Victorian novels had made the orphaned ward seem plausible, but that only cast him in a kindlier light.

What if their bond was even more . . . what was the word . . . _inviolable_ than that? What if she were actually . . . his daughter?

Impossible, I knew, but if it weren't, if she could actually be his biologically, it might account for the barrier my mind had set between us. Trying to stay objective, I had to admit that if I'd seen the two of them on the street in Forks, I would have taken him for her father – as young as he was. The resemblance was that strong.

I cringed a little, as lightning struck again somewhere in the forest. I could imagine the tree bursting into flame, but in this downpour it would be quickly extinguished. It was long past dark. The Cullens would be wondering what had happened to me. Not that Alice couldn't give them a good idea. Perversely, I waved my hand in case she was looking.

None of that was important now. I was not leaving here until I'd explored every possibility as rationally as I could. I felt like a kid wrestling with one of those pencil mazes, trying to find the way out. Every time I thought I was getting somewhere, I'd find myself trapped, hemmed in by solid walls.

Like the impossibility of vampires reproducing. I couldn't get past the fact, but I could think about what made it one. It hadn't escaped my notice that the vampires I knew seemed to enjoy sex – a lot. That meant most of those human systems still functioned just fine, so what was the catch?

I was pretty sure the problem wasn't having sex; the problem was growing a baby. Vampire bodies didn't change, and in order to carry a child, a woman's body had to alter radically – to grow and to nourish. No way could that happen to the undead.

But what if . . . what if a male vampire mated with a human? Could he impregnate her? The question was purely academic, since the act itself would probably destroy the female. I shuddered. I was really giving way to fantasy now and a pretty morbid one at that.

Still, it was the only chink I'd found in that particular wall. I had to explore it. Was it possible for a male vampire to exert such restraint that a woman could survive the ordeal? Survive and conceive?

It was really hard to imagine. Everyone said I had remarkable control over my new instincts, but here I sat in the icy rain, barely able to hold back the hot, rush of emotion threatening to burst through my super-strong skin.

Did that mean it was impossible? I couldn't be sure. Maybe if the vampire was very focused on his goal and that goal was creating a child . . . I didn't like the route my thoughts were taking. My body didn't like it either. It was working like crazy to contain the turmoil I was determined to ignore.

I didn't like it, but I couldn't stop it now. My thoughts were being sucked down a dark tunnel, and there was no way to break the fall. Could he have done that? Found a woman – willing or unwilling – he could do that to? Even so, it wouldn't be a normal pregnancy. The fetus would be unnaturally strong and fierce. Surely, it would require a different kind of nourishment than a human woman could provide. I didn't see how either a mother or baby could live through that situation, much less come out of it healthy.

If a case could be made for abortion, that was it. Surely, anyone finding themselves in that condition would take steps immediately to end the pregnancy before it was too late for both mother and child. No way could a human carry a baby like that for nine long months.

Another dead end, I thought, and realized I was shaking. Rain was still coming down in buckets. Vigorously, I rubbed my wet face with both hands, trying to refresh my thought processes. They were getting seriously weird, all in the name of logic.

Could I actually imagine that Nessie was the result of such a horrific act, or that there could be such a thing as a half vampire? Don't be stupid, I told myself. You're supposed to be using whatever brain cells you have left to figure this whole thing out, not drift off into fantasy land.

Any woman who survived that imaginary conception and pregnancy would surely die in labor and her baby with her. And just when was the demon supposed to be carrying out this diabolic experiment? He'd been in high school, for heaven's sake. He'd been with the Cullens. He'd been with me.

Two things happened then almost simultaneously. I felt myself being swept down that dark tunnel again. Only this time what awaited me at the bottom was clear - that horrible sensation of pain, of ripping flesh and breaking bones. At the same time, my vision seemed to zoom in on the picture again – on Nessie and her twinkling brown eyes.

I'd thought they were much prettier than mine, but that was mostly because hers were full of laughter, while mine had usually been pensive and grave. The color was the same – exactly the same.

Oh, God.

The pent up emotions broke through, and I let out a sound that was more howl than cry. I felt suddenly mad, crazed, like I knew nothing about who I was at all.

The deluge was blinding, but I scarcely noticed. I took off running again, flying almost, in a mindless effort to distance myself from the one thing I'd been searching for – the truth. I ricocheted through the forest, purposely crashing into trees, trying to dislodge the notion from my head.

Through the darkest hours of the night, I kept it up, while the storm rattled the forest around me, but nothing could unstick the idea that had taken root in my mind. All the reasons that told me such a thing was impossible weren't enough to dislodge it. Desperately wanting to be wrong wouldn't make it so. As awful as it was to me, the possibility answered so many questions that I couldn't dismiss it.

Finally, I forced myself to stop at the edge of the forest. The ground here sloped sharply, making its way out of the trees and upward into the darkness. I climbed with it to an outcropping, where I wedged myself between two massive boulders. The sense of security provided was mostly an illusion. It was more of a reminder to stay put and fight this thing out in my head.

Several mysteries made sense under this ghastly scenario: the demon's reason for singling out such an insignificant, inexperienced girl, the Cullens' deep affection for Nessie, their concern for me, the immediate pull I'd felt toward a stranger.

What he'd done to me explained everything about the horror I felt in his presence, and Nessie was a reminder of that, innocent, but still proof of his brutality. It was exactly the kind of trauma that caused people to disassociate, as Carlisle had called it.

Logic and that memory of tearing, burning pain had converged to force me irrevocably to one spot in the maze – not the exit I'd hoped for, but a corner from which there was no escape. I had thought there were pieces missing, but the truth was it was me who was missing – me, Bella Swan of the uneventful life and the . . . the virginity.

My fingers raked ineffectually at my marble skin as I fought to hold on to what was left of me, what I knew. I knew I didn't want to be a victim. I knew my disturbing theory had the ring of truth and that it brought with it more unanswerable questions – a surreal timeline that fit nowhere, the fact that Nessie hadn't recognized me either.

I couldn't get lost in the maze again, following one will o'the wisp after another, so I shut my eyes tight, trying to stay centered. Gradually, the thunder and lightning journeyed on, though the rain never gave up. My panic moved to the edges, and I could breathe again.

When the darkness behind my lids lightened almost imperceptibly, I blinked to find an earth-bound cloud moving down the mountain, gray with the promise of daylight, and only then did it occur to me that there was another side to the revelation that had me in its grip.

If all this conjecture was true, it meant that I was something brand new, something I thought I'd never, ever be . . . a mother. I let that sink in for a long moment. Under this scenario, the magnetic pull I'd felt toward her hadn't been an illusion at all. I had not been borrowing another woman's happiness in those moments: it was mine.

And that meant I wasn't just "a" mother. I was Nessie's mother.

It would mean that precious little sunbeam of a person was my own flesh and blood, Charlie and Renee's, my beloved Gran's! And I had just as much right to her as the demon who cast a shadow on her future.

Something very like warmth pierced my body and with it a fierce sense of power as from a long forgotten dream. This war I'd been fighting with my own jumbled memories had been debilitating and futile. Unimportant, too, when compared with the well-being of a precious child. Surely, the real priority was protecting her, loving her.

I could do that. I knew it.

How much easier it was to wrap my brain around this part of the equation, as if I had a place inside just waiting for her. She was miraculous and defenseless and worth fighting for. That had to be my focus starting now. I stood and felt last night's energy gathering again. No more wasting it on mindless panic.

I had to be where she was and make sure the demon didn't return for her.

Despite the higher elevation, I couldn't see a thing, and I had no idea where all my aimless running around last night had brought me. Making my way down the rocky slope was slow-going, though my thoughts were racing. My first responsibility was to prove that this theory wasn't just another product of an unreliable brain.

The time for taking "no" for an answer was past. I wasn't going to ask anymore. I'd march back into that house of secrets and demand the truth, and I wouldn't back down until I got it. Carlisle's edict that everyone should follow my lead and not offer any new information might have some basis in medical theory, but it certainly wasn't working here. They all talked to me, but no one really said anything.

Well, not all of them talked. Nessie didn't. Just the thought of her brought another rush of consoling warmth through my senses, and I smiled.

Something flitted just beyond my perception. I stopped, trying to grasp it. Something that could tie up one of the unanswerable loose ends that kept my theory from working – that troublesome detail that Nessie didn't remember me either.

Alice said Nessie could talk – that she was choosing not to. Why? Could it be possible it was for the very same reason the rest of the family had been so guarded around me? Was not using any words at all the surest way to keep from using the wrong ones? Maybe her mother had taught her if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all. Maybe _I_ was that mother.

I bit my lip to prevent a gasp from escaping. If that were true – if her silence was meant to guarantee she wouldn't upset me – it would mean she'd never forgotten me at all!

Could a small child be smart enough to play that game? Not one with my spastic brain, I thought ruefully. But I wasn't her only parent. However he chose to use it, I had no doubt the demon's brain could run circles around most other people's. If he was her father, she could do it.

Young children weren't known for their self-discipline, and she wasn't likely to have inherited much from me, considering I was officially an erratic mess. On the other hand, he . . . he clearly had phenomenal control over his instincts. If he was her father, she could do it.

Even thoughts of the demon couldn't chase away the joy trickling through my pores at such a possibility. The way she'd accepted me into every aspect of her little life, the twinkle in her eyes – her brown eyes – as we played together, as if she was enjoying a special secret.

I started down the rugged hill again with a lot less caution. What was I afraid of – breaking my leg? At the bottom the fog thinned into gauzy strips. Trees sprang into the light, like one of Alice's photographs, shredding the remnants till the way to my target was clear.

Now that I had my bearings, I was running again, not in the pointless, zigzag way I'd done last night, but straight as the crow flies. Neither the wind rushing past me nor the watery morning sun could dry my sopping clothes. My hair hung in mossy tangles around my face. I probably looked like I'd gone a couple of rounds with the Creature from the Black Lagoon, but I didn't care. Maybe I could scare the truth out of them.

Carlisle's car was still in the driveway. Good. He hadn't left for the hospital yet. I planned on confronting each of them separately, till somebody cracked. Carlisle was the least likely to do that, but I was also sure he had the most information, so I'd take him on first. I flew up the steps and through the front door like an avenging angel.

And I stopped.

They were all standing there, ranged against me, a defending army ready to rout the enemy. There wasn't a welcoming smile among them.

"Where the hell have you been?" a furious voice rang out.

And that was just Esme.


	31. Answers

Chapter 31

Answers

The shock of hearing Esme talk that way left me momentarily nonplussed.

"Didn't you realize we'd be worried sick about you?"

"I . . . no . . . Alice . . . Alice must have seen me."

"Of course, I _saw_ you," Alice said, and she sounded only slightly less furious than Esme. "I saw you running around in a thunder storm like a lunatic, obviously very upset about something. How was that supposed to make us feel better?"

I could feel the fear behind their anger. After so many days of watching over me, it was only natural that my disappearance had spooked them. "I'm sorry. I was very confused. I just had to get away."

"Are you all right now?" Carlisle was scrutinizing my face, looking for a clue as to what had set me off. He'd probably been puzzling over that all night. It was on the tip of my tongue to say I was fine, but I wasn't fine, and here I was feeling guilty again, on the defensive. That was not my mission.

"Where's Nessie?" I demanded.

You could have heard a pin drop.

"I want to see her immediately. Is she still asleep?"

"She isn't here," Carlisle said, stepping forward.

Panic hit me like an electric shock. At the very time I'd been forcing my creaky brain cells to work, had the demon come like a thief in the night and spirited her away? Could Fate really be that cruel?

"What do you mean she isn't here? Where is she? Who took her?" My voice rose on each question till the vampire ring in it made the windows shiver. When Carlisle reached out to touch me, I pulled out of his grasp so violently that my arm struck a plant stand, sending a Chinese vase and its contents shattering against the far wall.

I recognized the low growl as Emmett's.

"Bella," Carlisle said in his most placating manner, "you have to calm down. I'll be glad to answer your questions."

"No, you won't," I half laughed. It sounded seriously loony. "You'll only answer the ones you want to. You've all been lying to me!"

"Actually, we haven't, whenever we could possibly avoid it. It's been for your own good, and it was my call. You can't blame anyone here if it was a bad one. They were only doing what I asked them to."

I couldn't make heads or tails of it all, couldn't tell what parts were lies. I could only concentrate on the one thing I knew. "She's mine, isn't she, Carlisle? No more lies or tricky words. Nessie's my little girl."

He looked me in the eye, his expression gentle. "Yes," he said simply. "She is."

"Then why isn't she here?" I brushed past his all-important confession, already convinced of the truth and asserting my parental rights. "I want my daughter, Carlisle. I want her right now!"

I only meant to emphasize my point with a finger to his chest, but he was unprepared, and it knocked him back several feet. Instantly, Jasper and Emmett were on me, grasping my arms.

I was sure I could have gotten away from one, but two of them, not to mention the backups in the room, could be a problem. "Let go of me," I hissed, baring my teeth at the both of them.

"Darlin', I really don't want to go through this again," Jasper said wearily. "You've got to settle down and give the man a chance to explain."

Carlisle was implacable as ever. "Of course you have a right to know where she is. Nessie's fine. She's with Jacob. He's taken her to Billy's for a while."

"You sent her away with a babysitter at the crack of dawn? What for? Why are you trying to keep us apart?"

"Look at yourself, Bella." It was Rosalie who answered. "You hang out in a raging storm all night long and show up looking like a drowned rat. You're yelling, breaking things. Is that how you want Nessie to see you? You should be thanking us for getting her out of here before you came charging in."

I stared at her. Everyone seemed ranged against me, but in this she was right. I wouldn't want my daughter to see me so out of control, not ever, and especially not at the moment when I hoped to embrace her as my own. "How did you know I'd be like this?"

"Staying out over night with no explanation." Esme said. "That's not like you. It didn't take Alice to tell us you were extremely upset."

"Upset," I repeated. "Just because you've been letting me think my own little girl was a casual visitor. Why would that upset me?"

"You didn't even remember that you had a child, Bella." Carlisle pointed out reasonably. "We couldn't risk her reaching for you only to be rejected. We were thinking of her."

I couldn't argue with that either. I was glad they'd put her welfare ahead of mine. But I couldn't lose the momentum that had brought me rampaging into the house. They had other things to answer for, and it was time they were brought out into the open.

"And he . . . the de- . . . Edward . . . he's her father, isn't he?"

Carlisle waited longer this time to speak. I could practically feel him weighing the consequences of his answer before he slowly nodded.

I'd hoped against hope that part wasn't true. From the moment the possibility occurred to me, I knew she was mine, but the other . . . I wanted desperately to be wrong about it. She deserved so much better than to have her origins part of some demented, treacherous scheme.

Anger swelled in me again, for myself, for my blameless child. "Explain to me how you could pretend to care about me and all the time you're defending a monster, an egomaniac who just had to perpetuate himself no matter who it ruined or killed. How could you look the other way when there was a rapist in your own family?"

Alice shot across the room in a blur of speed until she was inches from my face. "Stop it, Bella. Now!"

I'd never seen her so angry. Under other circumstances I might have found it intimidating. "Look, Alice. I don't mean to make you angry. I'm just trying to get to the facts."

"You don't know any facts, Bella. You didn't even know you were a mother, so stop trying to pass your paranoid delusions off as anything other than what they are."

She paused, visibly struggling to get her temper under control. "Look, I love you. We all do, and we realize you're not yourself right now, but I'm not going to stand for you bashing my brother one more second. He doesn't deserve it, and if you had half the sense you used to have you'd know that."

"That's enough," Carlisle said, laying a hand on Alice's arm. "We're all overwrought at this point. Why don't we take a few minutes to simmer down? Bella, you'll feel better after you've cleaned up. There'll be plenty of time to discuss things further when you're done."

I glanced down at my wet clothes, the mud I'd tracked across Esme's polished floor. I could use some alone time to absorb what I'd just heard and get my temper under control.

"Will everyone still be here when I get back?" I looked at each of them in turn, letting them see that no one was exempt.

"Of course, sweetheart," Esme assured me. "I'm sorry if we drove you away with our silence. We're pretty confused too, you know?"

I felt so torn. I didn't know whether I wanted to keep screaming at these people or apologize for doing it already. I compromised with a quick nod to Esme and headed to Alice's bathroom.

A hot shower and strawberry shampoo helped a little. Pausing in front of the full-length mirror in Alice's dressing room, I ran my fingertips over my naked torso. No scars. My stomach was flat. And yet I'd given birth to a child?

It was all too much.

Just remember the most important thing, I told my reflection. You have a beautiful little girl of your very own, and she needs you. That's what matters.

I was going to stand up for myself – for her, but it wouldn't help to get overly emotional or throw accusations at people who cared about us both. I vowed to keep my cool if at all possible and try to be polite.

There was plenty of clean underwear in the drawer, but the closet was stuffed with fancy lingerie and dresses. I ended up resorting to the clothes hamper for some jeans and a flannel shirt, then grabbed a sponge from under the vanity and returned to the front room.

"Already taken care of," Esme said, taking the sponge. The floor was gleaming again. It looked like no one had moved since I left.

"I apologize, Alice," I began. "You're right. I don't remember exactly what happened, so I shouldn't have said what I did. Maybe he didn't force me. Maybe I did consent. I don't know, but is it really all that much better to . . . to dazzle and manipulate an underage girl who didn't know from boys, just so he could have a child?"

Before Alice could respond, Rosalie jumped in. "He didn't want the baby, Bella. He was all for aborting her because –"

"You were 18 when you did the deed." Emmett cut across Rosalie's disclosure, "so you were completely legal. And you only made it that far cause my brother refused to put out. I thought he was gonna go nuts with you pressuring him all the time."

"He's right," Jasper joined in. "Edward didn't want to risk hurting you."

"And he would never, never force himself on you," Esme insisted.

"Everybody stop talking at once," Alice commanded, stomping her foot. "It wasn't anything like that, Bella. Carlisle, can I tell her now – please?"

He shut his eyes briefly before nodding, resignation evident in his expression.

"Bella, you and Edward are married. You got pregnant on your honeymoon, and nobody was more stunned than Edward. None of us even dreamed that was a possibility."

I could tell in her estimation this was the most shocking revelation of all, but if she thought it was going to change how I felt about anything, she was dead wrong.

"I would never have gotten married willingly, Alice, not at 17 or 18, maybe not ever. If I did that it was because he coerced me or tricked me or –"

"Or because you were so in love with him you couldn't see straight," Alice shot back.

"To be fair, he _was_ the one who insisted on marriage," Emmett said, nodding his head sagely. "You held out for a really long time."

"You're not helping, Em," Rosalie warned him.

"You were deliriously happy at your wedding," Alice claimed. "We have loads of pictures. If you look at them, you'll see –"

"No more pictures, Alice, please. I can't take it." Irrationally, I placed my hands over my ears as if that would keep me from seeing them.

"All right," Carlisle's voice rose above the rest. "Apparently that wasn't a long enough simmering down period. We're only confusing her all the more. Emmett, Jasper, it's time you got to the airport."

"Are you sure about that?" Jasper said, glancing at me doubtfully. "Maybe one of us should stay here just in case."

"It will be fine. He was very specific that it should be both of you."

Jasper looked at me like I might be a live grenade, but he and Emmett finally headed for the door.

"Alice," Carlisle continued. "Maybe you could find somewhere more peaceful and keep an eye on things." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny cell phone. "Here, Rose. I'm expecting a call, but I need to speak with Bella for a few minutes. Would you mind catching it for me?"

"Oh, right," Rosalie said quickly, taking the phone and hurrying out of the room.

That just left Carlisle and Esme. I felt uncomfortable facing off against the two of them and retreated to my favorite chair. They each took a seat on one of the sleek leather arms.

"Sweetheart, I apologize for being so rude to you when you came in. I don't know what came over me."

"I'm sorry too, Esme – about the vase, about losing my temper, about leaving you to worry all night . . . I just wasn't thinking straight. I had to get away by myself, and I figured Alice would know I was all right."

"She didn't think you were all right at all," Esme scolded. "She told us you'd come back this morning, but it was obvious you must have remembered something very disturbing. We felt terrible that you insisted on dealing with it alone."

"There's nothing you could have done," I said, suddenly wanting to comfort her. Whatever lies might have been told for whatever reasons, I couldn't deny the aura of warmth and caring that emanated from these people. "And it wasn't something I remembered, more like something I suddenly figured out."

Now who wasn't being exactly truthful? I was ashamed to admit I'd sneaked a peek into Nessie's locket.

"There's nothing very comforting about being bombarded with information when you're already struggling with too much," Carlisle said wryly. "We mean well, Bella, but no one would mistake this house for a convalescent home. I know it must be overwhelming for you, suddenly learning you're a parent," he added gently. "Do you want to talk about it?"

That must have been Esme's cue that the doctor was in. She kissed the top of my head, which was still wet but at least smelled better now, and left us alone.

"Yes and no," I said truthfully. "It doesn't make rational sense. I still can't see how it all happened, but I feel like it's true. My gut tells me it's a fact."

He nodded. "And how do you feel about that?"

"It's weird, but I'm happy about it – so happy. It's like part of me already knew, and it's the most important thing in the world."

"That's good then," he said with a smile.

"But everything else . . . none of that seems at all real, because I don't have any memories or feelings about it, not good ones anyway."

"I think I understand. You see now why I said she was an exceptional little girl. The situation is so unique that we simply had no way of knowing what to expect."

"There really is nothing wrong with her?"

"No, she's a prefect specimen of something we've never seen before."

"And the not talking – was she doing that on purpose . . . because of me?"

The warmth of his smile made me feel better. I couldn't help being embarrassed and a little guilty that I'd assaulted him in his own home, though I'd do it all again to get to the truth.

"Yes and no," he said. "It seemed the best way to prevent her inadvertently saying something that might alarm you, but don't assume that was any great hardship for her. She generally speaks very little. She doesn't need to. Like . . . some of our family members, she has a unique gift."

I looked at him, fascinated. All the lies and conflicts left to unravel could wait. This was my child we were talking about.

"Simply by touching your face, she can transmit pictures of all the images in her head to you. It was especially helpful when she was younger and didn't have the vocabulary for what she was thinking."

I remembered her sleepily reaching out to me one night and the way Alice had deftly stopped her hand. I suppose they'd thought a sudden hit of telepathy wasn't the most subtle way to bring me to the truth.

For a brief moment I knew what it felt like to be happy again and then, almost as if something in me balked at the concept, a black wave rolled over my thoughts. Panic was nudging at my nerves again. "She's been with him, hasn't she?" My eyes darted frantically around the room. "He never left, did he? He's here somewhere!"

Crazy images invaded my mind – the demon lurking just out of sight, hiding in the sarcophagus in the basement like a B-movie Dracula. I looked at my hands, and they were trembling.

Carlisle took them in his own. "Slow down, Bella. Relax. No, he isn't here. I can tell you in all honesty he's thousands of miles away."

He was looking directly into my eyes. His pressure on my fingers was meant to reassure. I took a breath and the black wave receded. "I'm sorry. Something just comes over me – it's frightening."

"I know," he said softly. "It's not your fault."

I managed a shaky laugh. "I don't know who else's fault it could be."

The corner of Carlisle's mouth quirked almost imperceptibly, as if it wanted to curl in disdain at some unseen villain actually responsible for this mess.

_Stop it. _I had to quit going off on these macabre fantasies. I had something good to focus on now, something I needed to work harder to deserve.

"But poor Nessie. Now she must think her mother's bonkers, behaving like I've never laid eyes on her before."

"That's one of the most remarkable things about her," Carlisle said, the smile returning. "She's capable of understanding so much more than her appearance would lead you to expect. She knows you have a temporary problem, and she's been happy to spend time with you any way she can."

"Temporary," I repeated dully.

"I've never believed it was anything else."

"Carlisle," Rosalie called sharply.

He rose. "Excuse me. I have to take this."

He was gone for quite a long time, and when he returned he seemed a little pumped about something, but all he said was, "I'm afraid I'm overdue at the hospital. We can talk more later."

I scrunched down in the chair, settling in for the long haul. I had to try and make sense of the "facts" being thrown around here today, half of which contradicted each other.

Emmett always said what he thought, whether it was a good idea or not, and he was the one who'd admitted the marriage was Edward's idea. I wondered why he'd felt that was necessary, since he already had me running around the world to be with him.

If his goal had been a child, though, he might have wanted to make our relationship legal, to establish his claim. There, that was sound reasoning. But then there was Rosalie's outburst. She'd said Edward had wanted the pregnancy aborted and no one had contradicted her.

The thought made me shiver, and once again I was facing a paradox. He wanted a child; he didn't want a child. I was back in the pencil maze up against another dead end.

Then there was the accusation that I'd been the one pushing for . . . sex. Emmett was the one who'd said I was the aggressor, but that only meant he believed it was true. God only knew what lies the demon had told him.

It didn't sound like me at all. I'd never been forward, and my dating experiences were practically nil. In fact, I was still struggling with the fact that I was no longer a virgin. No good way to get around that when the one undisputed revelation seemed to be that I'd had a baby.

Following the one undisputed piece of information only got me thicker and thicker into the maze, into a mystery that seemed insurmountable. The consensus seemed to be that I'd gotten married at 18 when I was still human, and I'd been turned sometime after that, but how long ago could it have been? Nessie had to be four – even five years old!

Since my brain had first gotten so muddled, I'd searched for lost minutes, hours – but years? It was too much to contemplate. With a small groan I pulled my knees up into the chair and dug the heels of my hands into my eyes. Nothing became clearer.

I couldn't tell anything about the passage of time by looking at myself. I would always be the same and so would everyone in this house. If I remembered correctly, Jacob was stuck in a non-aging thing as well. Maybe I needed to check out some humans to get a sense of how long ago things had happened.

A sudden vision of Charlie, his mustache turned to white, made me cringe.

When Alice came back into the room, I accosted her immediately. "Alice, what year is this?"

Concern instantly clouded her features. "Oh, sweetie, is it getting worse?" She darted to where I was sitting and knelt down, laying her hand on my knee. "I know today's been crazy. So much was said. You're bound to feel more confused than ever."

"Just answer the question," I said, "Please."

"It's 2008." Her amber eyes were filled with trepidation as they searched mine.

"Oh, good. That's a relief, but then I don't understand – when's Nessie's birthday?"

"September," she answered readily, "Just three days before yours."

"But what year?"

She took a deep breath. "Last year. 2007."

I'd thought I was on a roll there for a minute, asking questions that had normal kind of answers. "So you're telling me that she's . . . she's not even a year old?"

She nodded mutely, looking almost apologetic.

"Oh, wow."Alice squeezed my hand, waiting for me to absorb this latest shock. "She really is different, isn't she?"

"You could say that. What did Carlisle tell you when you asked him how old she was?"

"I guess he sort of hedged the question, saying something about age-appropriate characteristics."

Alice's impish look made a brief return. "Nice try, Carlisle. I'm sure he was doing his best to avoid lying to you, but really if anything about her was age-appropriate she'd be crawling around and pulling herself up on the furniture, maybe learning to say "mama."

"Gah, she must change every day."

"She did for a while, but it seems to have leveled off, at least physically. It's a lot more subtle."

"I'm still having problems with the math, Alice. How long was I pregnant?"

"A little shy of a month, and that's all I'm going to say for now, Bella. Your problem is an overload of bizarre information, as it is. Adding to it isn't going to help you get anything straight. Would you like to do something to get your mind off things? I could get you your book or just sit with you."

"No thanks, Alice. You're right. I've got a bunch of information I have to sort through. I'd just like to be left alone."

"Okay," she said, getting to her feet. "Just call me if you change your mind."

As soon as she was gone, I closed my eyes, forcing myself back into the maze. I wasn't ready to give up my first theory – that my pregnancy had to be the result of rape. It would explain the terror I'd felt when I saw him. He'd shown violence toward me before, but bringing it up only made the Cullens jump to his defense.

In a way, that should make me feel better about myself. If the people who had lived with him for decades were still blinded by his charm, then maybe I wasn't such a pathetic loser after all. Thank goodness for whatever weird quirk in my brain had allowed me to see the truth.

Telling them what I knew wasn't going to do any good. They were going to have to catch him in his devious behavior before they actually believed. What would he do, I wondered, if he knew I was spending time with Nessie? Carlisle had said she had two parents that loved her, and he was half right. If her father had truly cared would he have left her behind?

I toyed with the idea that he might go ballistic if he found she'd been spending time with me, now that I knew the truth. It could be the proof the Cullens needed that he wasn't what he seemed, but I couldn't count on that. I only knew whatever plans he had for Nessie couldn't be trusted. It didn't really matter which of the things I'd heard were true and which weren't. There was only one clear path out of the maze, and it was up to me to take it.

I had to get my daughter away before he came back to claim her. I couldn't let him ever have the chance to warp her beautiful little soul or use her special gifts for his own selfish purposes. The thought of that happening caused every newborn instinct to stir in my belly. My fingers curled into the chair's armrests, and a low growl built in my throat.

I don't know how much time passed before I heard the front door opening. My eyes slitted open just enough to see Esme greeting Emmett and Jasper in the foyer. Emmett had a package under one arm.

"Did you have any trouble?" Esme asked in a low voice.

"No," Emmett grinned, "but I'm here to tell you, this is one interesting delivery."

I couldn't see what was so interesting about it, just a narrow box, two or three feet long, covered with shipping stickers.

"I can attest to that." Jasper was also grinning. "And I don't recall anything being said about us not taking a peek inside."

"Of course, he didn't say anything," Esme said dryly. "He knew you two would do it anyway. Now, you know where to put it."

"Oh, no. Not going to happen," Emmett protested.

"Give it to me, you gigantic pussy." Jasper wrenched it away and headed for the back stairs. "If you want to have a look-see, you're going to have to come down here anyway."

"Crap," Emmett said under his breath and hurried after him.

Esme turned toward me, and I closed my eyes tight. "Bella, sweetheart, is there anything I can do for you?"

"Thanks, no," I said, my eyelids fluttering open. "I just have a lot to think about, a lot of things to try to get straight in my head."

"Of course, you do. I . . . uh . . . hope they're not all as unpleasant as this would indicate."

I followed her gaze to the arms of the chair. The leather had been gouged and ripped by my fingernails. "Oh, Esme, I'm so sorry! I didn't realize I was even doing –"

"It's all right," she insisted with what could only be a genuine smile. "It's only furniture – easily replaceable. How about we designate this your chair, just until you've got everything worked out."

"That may take a while," I said with a gloomy attempt at a smile.

"Maybe not. You never know, and in the meantime there is one very wonderful thing you have to contemplate. When Nessie gets back tomorrow, you can fully enjoy your relationship."

"You're absolutely right. I can hardly wait."

"Isn't she just the most precious thing you've ever seen?" Esme enthused. "I'm having so much fun being a granny."

I grinned at her. "Well, I can't say you look the part, but I'll bet you're better at it than all the little old gray-haired ladies put together."

"And she couldn't have a better mom," she said, kissing my cheek. "Now, I'll leave you to your mental exercises."

"I'll try to take it easier on your chair," I said, embarrassed.

"Oh, that old thing? Don't give it a second thought." Her dimples flashed and she left me to my own devices.

The high I got from thinking about Nessie didn't last long, because it inevitably led to the danger she was in, the danger that everyone but me refused to recognize. Openly claiming her for myself would never work. He wouldn't allow it, and neither would the Cullens. They'd just think I was acting irrational and hold us both even closer.

My only option was to steal her away before the demon reached out for her again, but I'd never have the opportunity unless I could act relatively stable. Today's drama hadn't helped that cause for sure.

Being with Nessie would. I'd have something again to feel happy about, a reason for showing I could be responsible, and once everyone got used to our being alone together again, we'd take off. I had confidence in phase one of my plan, but two was going to be close to impossible.

Alice would be able to track my decisions. With their resources, the others could check out every flight, every train or bus that might figure in our escape. We'd have to go on foot, changing directions, laying some kind of false trail, if I was to have any chance at all of hiding Nessie from them.

That thought in itself made me feel miserable. Hide Nessie from the family who loved her, the people she loved? I loved them too. Could I really be that cruel?

As long as the demon succeeded in hiding his agenda, they'd be a package deal. What other choice would I have?

But was it really the Cullens I needed to worry about? They might try to stop me, but they wouldn't hurt me. The demon was another story. That one look at his face had nearly brought me to my knees, and he'd been stunned then, nearly immobile. What would he look like enraged?

I shuddered and gripped the chair harder. He'd put so much time and effort into creating a child. Waiting for a girl naïve enough to fall under his spell, patiently molding her over a year and a half, ultimately convincing her to go against her own ingrained prejudices to marry him.

I wouldn't force myself to go any further. I looked "deliriously happy" at our wedding? Or was I simply delirious? Could he have drugged me or maybe threatened someone I loved? I told myself it didn't matter how he'd done it, only that he had, and Nessie was the result.

After all that, was there any doubt he wouldn't hesitate to kill me if I thwarted such a long-range scheme? He would be so angry! I realized my fingers had dug right through the leather and stuffing to the wooden frame of what would soon be a former chair. No help for it now, and no avoiding the bottom line of my abduction plan.

It could very well come down to him or me. I would not leave Nessie to be raised alone by a monster. So I'd have to fight him. Could I win? From what I remembered, newborn strength lasted for months or even a year or more, but where did I fall on that scale? Was I still strong enough to be a match for the demon?

It wouldn't matter how great my physical strength was if the debilitating emotions could render me helpless, but I had a shield against them now – my concern for Nessie, a mother's primal instinct. If she was threatened, I was pretty sure my own fears wouldn't even register.

I just might have to kill him.

I feared the guilt was written on my face when Alice showed up again in the afternoon.

"Honestly, Bella, you've been glued to that chair all day long. You need to get out in the fresh air. What do you say we take a walk?"

Mission number one: Do not arouse suspicion. "Sure, Alice," I said, "lead the way."

We were no sooner outside than she turned to me. "Do you think you could take me to the clearing where you stopped that day?"

"What day?" I had no idea what she was talking about.

"The day you started forgetting things. I saw you talking to that hiker in a clearing, and then you stayed there a while. Do you think you could find it again?"

"I don't know. I guess so. Why?"

"Just on the chance, I could pick up something there, some energy that might be a clue to what affected you so strongly."

Was she serious? "Since when did you turn psychic, Alice? I mean, I know you're psychic, but your visions are all about what's going to happen, not about picking up old vibes, or have I missed something?"

"Anything is worth a try, Bella. Just humor me, okay?"

I shrugged, and we set off in the general direction I'd gone that afternoon. At least, I could take this opportunity to ask some more questions about my newly discovered past.

"Only a month, huh?"

"Hmm?" She already seemed to be a million miles away.

"That's how long my pregnancy lasted? How could Carlisle be sure when it was time for the delivery?"

"Oh, he wasn't there," she answered, still obviously distracted.

I stopped cold. "What do you mean, he wasn't there? Who delivered the baby?"

Her attention snapped back to me, and she looked wary. "The decision had to be made quickly. It wasn't Nessie's fault that she was so strong. She tried not to hurt you, but she'd gotten so big. She was breaking your bones. He had to get her out of there."

He? The surfeit of emotions that instantly accompanied any thought of him threatened to engulf my willpower, but I tried to ignore it. I knew who she had to be talking about. "He told you that, and you believed him?"

I was about to ask what qualified him to deliver a baby when the memories returned – the biting and tearing and ripping. The pain and terror of it all must have shown in my face, because Alice didn't even try to contradict me.

"It was the only way he could get her out, Bella. A scalpel wouldn't penetrate a vampire placenta, only our teeth could do that. He had no choice, or we might have lost you both."

Was there no end to the lies he told or the Cullens' willingness to believe them? "How do you know that, Alice? How do you know he didn't just use the opportunity to try and take Nessie for himself. He didn't care what happened to me, as long as he got what he wanted."

"Hold it, just a minute," she said, looking distracted again. "This is important."

I stared at her, disbelieving, while she looked into the middle distance. As if anything could be more important than the fact that her precious brother had tried to kill me.

When she looked at me again, it was only to say, "The scars, Bella. With all that ripping and tearing, where are the scars?"

Where indeed? "I don't know. It doesn't make sense, but I know it happened, Alice. I know what I remember."

"Of course, you do. I get it. If it was horrible, you remember it. Anything the least bit positive you've conveniently forgotten. I figured that part out, but the only reason you don't have the scars to prove it is that he was frantically sealing the wounds with his venom."

"So you believe me – about the biting? Because it was horrible. I don't know how I survived."

"You didn't, Bella. You lost an enormous amount of blood. You died, okay?"

"He killed me," I said in a choked voice.

"He saved you," she corrected. "He kept at it until there was enough venom in your system to change you. That's why you don't have any scars. That's why you're alive, for lack of a better word, today."

Why would he do that? Surely, he wasn't that desperate to have a babysitter for his newborn child? Confusion was bombarding my brain again. I considered telling her of that last vision – the misty image of him plunging a dagger into my chest, but what was the point? She wouldn't believe me.

And she was off again, staring at nothing, as if this conversation wasn't all that important. "Bella, sweetie, can we just put all that aside for a little while?" she said when she snapped out of it. "I promise, we can talk more about it later – maybe tomorrow, but right now, I'd really appreciate it if you could find that clearing."

I took a deep breath of the moist, earthy air. I needed to appear calm and rational if my plans were to succeed. I needed to cooperate with Alice and her wild goose chase. With as much good grace as I could muster, I set off again, angling in the direction I thought I needed to go, Alice sticking close to my side.

We experienced a couple of false alarms, clearings that looked similar to what I remembered, but missing some crucial element. Alice had seen it too in her thoughts, so we were in agreement when we decided to move on and keep looking.

Toward sunset, we hit a likely spot. "I think this is it," I said cautiously. "I came in from over there, but it looks the same. That's the rock the hiker was sitting on, I'm sure, and then I started to leave this way." I pointed in the right direction. "He said something to me that made me turn around."

"What was it," Alice asked eagerly.

I frowned. "I don't remember exactly. It must have been something that surprised me or made me curious because I know I turned around and came back – to just about here."

I indicated a certain spot, and Alice looked excited. "Yes, that's where I saw you talking to him, I'm sure. But you can't remember what he said?"

I shook my head. "I only know he was pretty annoying. I have the impression that it was a bunch of hot air."

"And then when he left, you stayed here for a while."

"I guess so, yeah. It was sunny. I know I remember the feel of it on my face and the idea that nobody was around to get sparkled at, so I could enjoy it. Maybe the legends are true about vampires. Maybe the sun is really, really bad for us."

"You did great," Alice said, slipping her arm around me.

I couldn't see how. So I'd located a place where I'd had an innocuous conversation with some lame-o stranger weeks ago. Whoop-de-do.

As we turned toward home, I returned to my former line of questioning. "So he was the one who changed me? I'd hoped that it was you or Carlisle."

Alice only nodded. I'd probably have gotten even less of a response if I'd asked what I really wanted to – _why_ had he done it? If a child had been his goal all along, then surely he could have just let me die.

But that might have aroused suspicion even among his overly trusting family. Surely, the paragon they envisioned him to be would try to save his own wife. "I'm glad I'm like you, Alice. Don't get me wrong. It's just . . . I can't help questioning his motives." I could see her jaw set as she chose not to respond to that last part.

"I know you really wanted to be one of us," she said evenly. "Have you forgotten the vote?"

"What vote?"

"You put it to the whole family, whether or not you should be changed, and you won, five to two."

"Who were the two?"

She gave me that look again that said she didn't understand why I remembered some things and had forgotten others. "What difference does it make now? You're one of us, and we're all happy about that."

"I'm not going to hold a grudge, Alice, if that's what you're afraid of. I just don't like being the only one who doesn't know my own history."

"Fair enough," she sighed. "Rosalie voted 'no,' but she doesn't feel the same way anymore."

It seemed a given that Rose and I had a rocky past, but I wasn't certain why. "She just didn't like me or what?"

"It was a little more complicated than that. She thought you were foolish to willingly give up your human life, and she felt like you brought trouble down on the family, like the business with James."

_Unbelievable._ I got the blame for being the prize in a pissing contest between the demon and some random nomad. Careful, not to let my reaction show, I skipped to the next question. "Who else voted against me?"

Alice looked startled. "Well, Edward, of course. He was dead set against taking your human life away from you."

Ah, now that made more sense. Of course, he was. He didn't want to be stuck for eternity with the likes of me. Once he'd accomplished his purpose, it would be easy for his new bride to suffer a tragic accident or simply disappear. Nothing so obvious as letting me bleed to death while he just stood there.

I was through asking questions. The answers only solidified my fear of the demon and depressed me with their evidence of the Cullens naiveté when it came to their youngest boy.

Alice didn't seem to notice my silence. She was preoccupied again, off and on, all the way back to the house, and what was odder, the rest of the Cullens appeared just as distracted. Everyone seemed to be thinking halfway about what they were doing and halfway about something else entirely, but I couldn't figure out what that was. No one left the house. Several times I thought conversations cut off when I came close, but it could have been my imagination.

"Is something going on?" I finally asked Jasper.

"No, not a thing. Just kind of a nervous energy in the air, isn't there?"

"It feels that way to me. Why do you suppose that is?"

He considered a moment. "Well, sometimes there's just a sense that things are about to change. Maybe for the better, maybe not. Like Fate is on the move or something."

"Well, Nessie's coming back tomorrow. I know I'm excited about that."

"I'm sure she is too," he said. "She'll be glad to have her mama back."

I smiled. Would she really call me mom or mommy? The thought made me glow. "I hope she can forgive me for acting so batty."

"Of course, she will. You can do no wrong in her eyes," he assured me.

Was that true of her father as well? Did she have some idealized notion of him, like most children did at that age? I couldn't think about that now. It was a possibility I'd have to cope with when the time came to take her away.

For now, her return gave me something to do. I went to her room and spent most of the evening tidying up her already tidy belongings, changing the sheets on her bed, the towels in her bathroom.

I checked for clean clothes, but that was clearly unnecessary. Did the child ever wear anything more than once? I detected the fine hand of Alice in her extensive wardrobe. At least she wasn't stuck with lavender lingerie.

When I ran out of things to do, I came out in time to hear Rosalie saying, "What in the hell is he up to?" She didn't sound angry. She sounded excited, but I had no clue who she was talking about, and Emmett just answered, "Beats me, babe."

They spotted me, and he added, "You know Jazz, he gets some crazy ideas sometimes."

Things were no different in the morning. There seemed to be several conversations going on, none of which included me. Or maybe I was just adding paranoia to my list of mental defects.

I busied myself with housework, all the time listening for Jacob and Nessie's return, but when I finally asked Esme, she told me they weren't expected back until late afternoon.

Carlisle didn't go to the hospital at all, spending most of the time in his study with the door closed, until towards noon when I caught him whispering with Esme and Alice in the next room.

I was once again ensconced in "my" chair, the one that screamed "property of a crazy person," and I thought I heard my name once or twice before Alice said, "Let me. I can handle it."

A moment later she appeared and knelt in front of me taking my hand. "Bella, you still love me, right, despite everything? And you trust me?"

I was about to say something flippant, but her manner stopped me. I'd never seen her looking more serious. "You know I do."

"I'm going to ask you to do something in a little while that won't be easy for you, but it's very, very important that you do it."

"Just tell me," I said, already fighting the urge to pull my hand from her grasp. "What is it?"

"I'm not even sure, but there's a chance it might help you remember the things you've forgotten. You want that, right? To feel like yourself again? If there's even the slightest possibility that it might work, we have to try, because really no one's been able to come up with another option. We have to go back to the clearing you showed me yesterday."

"And do what?"

"Just . . . just wait . . . to see if something happens."

"Why should it? Nothing happened yesterday." There was something she wasn't telling me, something that was making her almost as anxious as I was. Almost. "Does Carlisle know about this?"

"Yes. He's the one that told us about it – not the details, just what we needed to do, and he's coming too, Bella. He and Jasper and Emmett. We'll all be there to keep you safe."

"Safe from what?" My voice had fallen almost to a whisper. The cold that was colder than cold was seeping through my stone body. The black hole in my mind began to pulse slowly. "He's going to be there. Isn't he?"

She didn't even ask who I meant. "Only in the vicinity. It's necessary, but you won't have to talk to him or even see him, sweetie. I promise."

This time I managed to pull my hand away. "Alice, I can't. You know what happened before, even just with the photo." I didn't add that everything I'd learned about him since then had only served to make me more and more afraid.

"You won't even know he's around. He'll stay out of the way as much as possible, but it won't work without him."

"You don't sound sure it will work anyway. If you can't see it working, what's the point?"

"I don't know. There's this big blind spot, an unknown quantity. I'm being honest with you, Bella. I can't tell if this will do any good at all, but I do know it's the only chance we've been given. Please. Please say you'll do it – for me."

Alice is good at wheedling. She's not above using guilt or bribery or bargaining to get her way, but this felt different. Her concern for me, her sincere hope there might be a solution were palpable, and I knew she was speaking for the rest of the family as well. They'd chosen me over him, tried their best to help me. How could I deny them this one chance to fix everything?

All it would take from me was courage. I knew I had some, but it seemed to shrivel up at the prospect of coming into the demon's range. I was going to have to do better than this, because he was coming back – and so was Nessie.

"Okay, Alice. Tell me what you want me to do."

"Just wait for now," she said, squeezing my hand fervently. "I'll let you know when it's time."

Of course. She always did.


	32. Rendezvous

_A/N: I've been meaning to give a shout-out to those who've left reviews or sent private messages without a way for me to reply. Please know that they're appreciated, even if I can't thank you in person. _

_Also, I'm curious. Being new to fanfic and not a part of a larger community that reviews or promotes stories, I'm wondering how readers ever happened on this one. Do you check out the Just In page or search for certain elements, like ratings or whether a story is canon or not? I'd love to know how I lucked into so many great readers._

_But enough about me. Alice says it's time . . ._

Chapter 32

Rendezvous

I was too numb to tell how much time had passed, when Alice came back. She just stood there with an encouraging smile, holding out her hand. I rose and took it, and the two of us went out without seeing anyone else.

"I thought Carlisle was coming with us."

"The others will be along when they're ready," she assured me. "You don't need to be nervous. Nobody's going to attack you or anything. Remember, you're one of us now."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you look a little nervous yourself, Alice."

"Just imagine, Bella. The rest of you only guess at what's going to happen. I'm supposed to know, and I don't. My whole reason for being has completely vanished, just like that!"

"Oh, come on," I said, throwing my arms around her. "You've got to stop thinking that way. You're so much more than your visions. Seriously – this coat," I said, glancing down at my well-worn anorak, "would totally be a straight jacket by now if it wasn't for you and your positive energy."

She smiled, embarrassed. "Please, Bella, you're not going to start singing _Wind Beneath My Wings_, are you?"

"Tell you what, I'll do you an enormous favor and not sing anything."

"Deal."

I felt better with the tension broken, but it built again as we walked. Apparently, none of us knew what to expect. I just had to do my best to repay the Cullens for their kindness, cooperate with whatever crazy experiment was about to be performed today. It was the least I could do.

I was confident I could defend myself against most any kind of threat. Only the demon could make me too fearful to function, but there would be four allies here who had seen what happened the last time we faced each other. They'd make sure it didn't happen again. Then later today Nessie would be home. I'd be there to welcome her with open arms, and from that moment on I'd protect her with my life.

Having a plan again felt good and empowering. Maybe I was already getting better.

When we reached the clearing, Alice asked me again exactly where I'd been standing on that fateful day. I honestly couldn't see what that had to do with anything, but I found my mark and the two of us stayed there, listening to the forest noises that seemed no different than any other day.

The recent violent storm was only a memory, except in the deepest shade where the earth was still damp. The sky was a featureless haze. Somewhere behind it the sun had worked its magic until the open areas were dry. Nothing sparkled – no dripping leaves or puddles, not even me and Alice.

Almost an hour passed, and then I heard the sound of someone approaching long before my human ears would have picked it up.

Unconsciously my hand tightened on Alice's until she said, "Ouch! Relax, Bella, it's only Carlisle."

His expression cleared when he spotted us but not before I'd seen the uncharacteristic apprehension etched on his usually smooth face. That didn't help my nerves.

"You're doing fine, Bella," he said, slipping an arm around my shoulders. "Whatever happens or doesn't happen today, nothing's going to hurt you."

I nodded, wondering if it mattered, wondering if my marble body might just crack from the quaking with no outside influence at all.

"Close your eyes, if it helps. We'll tell you when it's safe to look."

I did as he suggested and instantly felt stupid – like a child hiding under the covers – and also better, knowing there was no chance I'd catch a glimpse of the one thing that could make me lose it completely.

That seemed the most important consideration here, just to keep the parts of me that were still intact together. The Cullens wouldn't let the demon approach me, which only left the crippling fear that the sight of even his photograph could trigger. Not ever glancing his direction was a simple way to solve that problem. I could do that much to help myself.

There was a mixture of sounds then coming toward us, twigs breaking underfoot, shuffling, grunts and muted curses. My nostrils flared, catching some familiar scents and a strange one. Nothing to panic about.

The hand that Alice wasn't holding balled into a fist, as the sounds grew nearer. The feel of the air changed, as it compressed. Someone was standing very close to me.

"You can open your eyes now," Carlisle said in his mellow voice. "Just look straight ahead."

I took a deep breath, now filled with the unknown scent, and opened them.

There was a man standing no more than two feet in front of me. His clothes looked expensive, but they were wrinkled and ripped in places, his dark hair straggling into his face. If anything, he appeared more apprehensive than I was, probably because Emmett had a hand on his neck, while Jasper clutched his arm.

I was careful to look only forward, but vamps have great peripheral vision, and there was nothing there, no sinister figure, no unexplained movement in the surrounding trees to spook me.

"I don't understand," I said. "Who's this?"

"I dunno," Emmett answered. He didn't seem to care much either, though he was obviously enjoying his role as captor. "You're supposed to look at him."

"He doesn't seem familiar?" Carlisle asked at my ear. "What about you, Alice? Have you seen him before?"

Alice shook her head. "I don't think so."

"We believe this is the man you met here, Bella, the day the trouble started."

"The hiker, you mean?" I said. "No, they're nothing alike. That man was heavier. He had light curly hair and blue eyes. His face was rounder. You saw him, Alice, in your vision."

"She's right." Alice backed me up immediately.

"He was undoubtedly wearing a disguise," Carlisle explained. "Alice, you know what can be done with makeup."

"Well, yes. I can make immortal Bella look like human Bella, but a whole different person?"

"Wig, contacts, padding," he said. "It could be done."

"I'm sure you're right," I agreed, "except for one slight detail. The guy I met that day definitely had two arms." This one's right sleeve was empty clear up to the shoulder.

Emmett grinned hugely. "We have reason to believe that's a recent renovation, right, Jazz?"

"Relatively recent, yes," Jasper confirmed.

"It's just that I can't honestly identify him," I told Carlisle. "Maybe if he said something."

"You heard the lady, speak up." Jasper emphasized the order with a twist of the captive's remaining wrist.

He winced, and cried out, "You people are insane!" in a high, reedy voice.

I shook my head. "Sorry, I can't tell."

"Maybe if you talked in your regular voice, we could get somewhere here," Emmett growled into the man's ear. The hand grasping his victim's neck flexed visibly, prompting another grunt of pain. "Now do what you're supposed to do."

"All right, all right. Bella, will you talk some sense into these lunatics? I tried to tell them we simply had a casual conversation about the local flora and so on, but they've got it into their heads that I did something to you. Tell them – I never laid a hand on you."

"It _is_ him," I said in amazement. "I recognize the voice, but he smells different."

"Musty," Alice said, and I knew she was wrinkling her pert little nose.

"Sorry, if it offends you," the captive said sarcastically, "but it's been a while since I was allowed to freshen up."

"He smells better," I added. "It was awful before – like cheap cologne."

"To cover up his true scent," Carlisle concluded.

"He's telling the truth. He never touched me, but he said . . . something." I frowned into the unfamiliar face, trying to find a feature that would jog the memory just beyond my reach, an unpleasant one I was sure.

"We just shot the breeze, remember? Small talk," the man insisted.

"No. There was something more." My eyes swept over him critically, lighting on his remaining hand. It was slim in keeping with his look now, but I remembered that first time almost subconsciously thinking that it should have been pudgy like the rest of him.

"I know!" I said suddenly. "He said he was some kind of vampire hunter, that he knew about your family, Carlisle. He threatened to make what he'd found out public." I frowned following our dimly recalled conversation. "But then he said he wouldn't. He kept changing the way he acted, the things he said. You can't trust him at all."

"You could trust him on one count," Carlisle said. "He wasn't about to reveal our existence, not when he's one of us."

I studied the man again. This time it was obvious. The dark eyes that seemed natural with his black hair were thinly laced with crimson. "You need to feed."

"Tell me about it. I've been detained against my will by another one of this crazy clan who's under the impression I have some kind of magical powers. You know better, Bella. Tell them I'm harmless."

I eyed him suspiciously. "If you're so harmless what were you doing roaming around the woods in disguise?"

"The same thing you were – trying to blend in with the humans. We're on the same team here, and frankly, I resent this effort to drive a wedge between us. Immortals should stick together, don't you think?"

Something still didn't add up. "You didn't have to look like an entirely different person just to seem human."

"Ah, you've hit upon my fatal flaw, lovely Bella. I'm a perfectionist – in everything I undertake. You didn't even notice the heartbeat, did you? Well, I had one – on a tiny little iPod shuffle in my shirt pocket, and in another, a sponge soaked in human blood – just in case you searched for that smell."

"Whose blood?" I said, recoiling.

"I'm afraid I didn't catch the name."

Beside me, Carlisle stiffened.

"You were hunting in our territory?" Jasper's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Don't get excited. I had to eat, didn't I? I chose someone a good distance away and burned the whole house down around her afterwards. No one took it for anything but an unfortunate accident. I should have gotten credit for cleaning up a public health nuisance. The whole place smelled of cats, and there was so much bric-a-brac, it went up like a tinderbox. It was quite a sight actually with cats streaming out of every window."

Emmett was frowning at him. "This place didn't happen to have an outhouse for a mailbox, did it?"

The captive gave him an incredulous look. "An outhouse? See, what I mean, Bella, this entire family is clearly insane."

I couldn't for the moment come up with an argument against that, but Carlisle was releasing his hold on me. He stepped forward. "Mr. French, I don't think you realize how seriously we take what you've done. I suggest you start making a sincere attempt to undo it before you find out how 'insane' this family can get."

"Yeah, okay, all right. Bella, look at me. I'm going to concentrate here, so just keep looking into my eyes."

I did. They were so dark, it was hard to find the pupils, but there they were. I looked at them obediently. French stared back. That hadn't been his name when I'd met him here before. What had it been – Ramsey, something like that – no, Ramey, Donald Ramey. They were right. I was remembering something!

Not that it was worth remembering. He probably changed his name as often as he did his appearance, not to mention his mind. What a peculiar person he was, and why on earth had he chosen me to mess around with?

A vein stood out on his forehead, more prominently as he intensified his gaze. It was very distracting, mostly because I wondered what made it do that. He hadn't fed, so it wouldn't be filled with blood. Maybe the muscles he was using to frown so ferociously were pushing it out.

He reminded me of something, and suddenly I had to suppress a giggle.

It was a picture of the mad monk Rasputin in a Forks High history book. Now there was an interesting character. He was supposed to have mystical powers. They had tried to kill him – how many ways? Poisoning, I knew, and shooting, as well as drowning. Had stabbing been in the mix? I couldn't remember.

Rasputin's life was mixed up in fact and legend, but it would all make perfect sense if he had been, in fact, a vampire. If they'd ended up burning his body, that would have done the trick no matter what. If not, he could still be around somewhere. That made me wonder who else in history might actually have been an immortal.

I'd have to ask Carlisle if he had any theories, but not right now. Now I was supposed to be taking part in an experiment, the nature of which entirely escaped me. How long had we been standing like this – five minutes, ten?

"Well?" French said suddenly.

"Well, what?"

"What are you thinking? Have you recovered any lost memories?"

"Actually, I was wondering if you'd ever been to Russia."

His face fell. "Well, that's that then. I tried my best. It didn't work. Now if someone would kindly return my missing arm, so I can make a living, along with the small stipend we agreed upon, I'll be on my way and trouble you no more."

Something flew past my line of sight so fast I only registered a smudge. At the same moment, there was a loud crack and French let out a spine-chilling shriek. He continued keening loudly. Emmett and Jasper adjusted their grip on him. Alice gasped. Carlisle put his arm around me again, holding tight.

I stared in horror. The man was teetering on one leg. One arm and now one leg. I could think of only one creature capable of that kind of swift mindless cruelty. I started shaking again. Where had he come from? Where had he gone? There was nothing in my peripheral vision.

"Nice move, bro!" Emmett crowed.

"Classic." Jasper smiled his approval.

"Now, I suggest you redouble your efforts," Carlisle addressed French with a basilisk stare. "With a little more sincerity this time."

Redouble his efforts at what? I was finding it difficult to think clearly, knowing the demon was here, somewhere very close by. That's where the real danger lay, not in this mercurial stranger with his imitation of a carnival hypnotist. I was suddenly grateful for Carlisle's arm around my shoulder, Alice's hand still gripping mine. I felt as unsteady as French looked.

"What were you doing, Bella, when you two had your conversation, anything in particular?" Alice asked, a note of desperation in her voice.

"Just talking," I told her. "Talking and trying to perfect the Cullen gaze. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of staring me down."

"Then maybe you should do that again."

"She's right," Carlisle agreed. "Try to duplicate whatever you were doing that other time."

I couldn't duplicate it, not my feelings anyway. I was scared now, knowing the demon had returned. Then I'd been mostly annoyed.

French spoke through gritted teeth, his manner no longer flippant. "Let's do this, Bella. Look at me. It's never been necessary before, but then apparently it's never been quite so effective as it was with you. And talk. As I recall, we were talking most of the time."

"_You_ were talking," I corrected him. "You seem to like to hear yourself do that."

"Very well. I believe the subject was ferns. Terribly boring in reality. I used to think they were reasonably attractive as plants go, but having come here, where they're clearly a dime a dozen, I'd be happy never to see another one."

"So that was a lie, too. You don't study them?"

He smirked. "Whatever did we do before Wikipedia? _Polypodiophyta. _Sounds like a disease. No, my profession is much more interesting. It requires a great deal of talent, which I'm happy to say I possess."

"What, exposing vampires?" I was glad I sounded so much braver than I felt. "Isn't that kind of a self-defeating career choice?"

"Stupid girl," he snarled, followed by a grunt of pain.

"Watch it," Emmett growled.

"My apologies, although there is really no need for an immortal with your looks to possess a brain. You're quite disturbingly desirable."

That was followed by an agonized gasp, courtesy of Jasper who added, "Best remember you're speaking to a lady, while you've still got a leg to stand on."

"Good one," Emmett said.

"Not really," Jasper muttered back.

"Do you really want to be tortured, Mr. French?" Carlisle demanded. "I'm in no mood to discourage the practice, so I suggest you get back to the subject at hand."

"The subject doesn't matter," French blustered. "I don't know why. It simply doesn't."

"So tell me about your amazing talent," I suggested.

"You didn't know that about me?"

"I don't know anything about you, except what you chose to tell me and that was apparently a total crock."

There was some benefit to chatting aimlessly with the great impostor here. It took my mind off more intimidating problems. The shaking had stopped. And staring into the black depths of his pupils kept me from seeing something I most certainly did not want to see.

"As a matter of fact, I'm an artist," French went on. "I recently sold a piece to the museum here in Seattle. Imagine my surprise when they took it for a genuine Picasso." He grinned at the hilarity of this anecdote.

I didn't get it. Weirdly, Emmett did.

"That Picasso was a load of crap," he announced.

"Philistine," French hissed.

Everyone seemed so sure that this encounter was important, that something about it might help my scrambled thoughts. I couldn't see how, but I'd do my best to make sure he didn't quit again. Even if this staring contest proved to be a waste of time, I wasn't anxious to witness another act of brutality, another proof that the demon was no better than a vicious animal.

Despite losing an arm and a leg, which he obviously hoped to get back, I had the feeling French's most vulnerable feature was intact. Brief as our acquaintance had been, I wondered how he'd managed to squeeze his giant ego into Forks' little DMV. Belittling him was surely the best way to keep his attention.

"If you're an artist, I'm surprised you didn't keep better track of your arm."

He scowled. "It was stolen off me in New York. Could happen to anybody."

That was an interesting little tidbit of news. Or maybe a bald-faced lie. "And now you've gone and misplaced a leg as well. I really hope you're a decent artist, Mr. French, because it seems to me you make a very poor vampire."

Emmett snickered.

"As if any of you would know what makes a proper vampire," French scoffed. "Feeding off animals like maggots. You're a disgrace to the species."

"I think I liked you better as Donald Ramey. At least, he was knowledgeable about something, even if it was only plants."

"And what do you know about the world, little newborn Bella? Have you ever even tasted human blood? Has it occurred to you that this peculiar coven you've gotten yourself mixed up with prevents you from realizing your true potential? There's only one thing that makes this existence worthwhile – the unequaled ecstasy of feasting on human blood. These . . . faux vampires are keeping that from you. Are you really going to let them rob you of your true destiny?"

"I can do without it, if it means innocent people go on with their lives."

"You think that," he snapped, "only because you've never tasted the alternative. Have you ever even left this dreary area? There's a whole world waiting for you out there, little Bella. Paris, Hong Kong, Rio."

"I've been to Rio," I said, and out of the corner of my eye saw both Alice and Carlisle turn to look at me. Why had I said that? No clue, but the idea was to just keep talking, whether it made any sense or not. "So what about British Columbia? Have you ever actually been there?"

"Afraid not," French admitted. "It sounds boring, to tell you the truth. At least it did until I came to this backwater. Seriously, anyone who chooses to live in a place like Forks has obviously given up completely, but I'm curious. Do you have a unique immortal gift, Bella?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"A special ability peculiar only to you. I thought perhaps they ran in the family."

So now he was claiming to be a Cullen? Maybe the whole point of this meeting was to show me there were bigger nutjobs than me. Point taken.

I took a moment to appreciate the fact that I really was part of the family I loved. If only it had been my choice. Did I have a special gift? I felt like I might, but what could it be?

"Maybe it's slipped your mind," French said with a nasty grin.

"I guess so. If I had one, I'm pretty sure I'd be using it on you right now."

"Ha! Not all of them are much use as weapons. Female I met in . . . Barcelona, I think it was, could translate any language instantly. Whatever was said, no matter how obscure the dialect, her mind took its meaning in Catalan. Very complex talent, but nothing that couldn't be duplicated with the right app and a decent cell phone.

"I have to confess that your husband's little trick went right past me, until we were on our way here, high over somewhere featureless, like Iowa. I was wiling away the time, imagining how I could turn this forced vacation in my favor, and it occurred to me that by now you're probably very bored with your new groom, possibly even hostile toward him. What a perfect time for you to find someone more worthy of your attentions! I could take you away from this narrow existence, Bella. Show you the world, and the world would thrill to your beauty."

I hadn't the ghost of a clue what he was talking about. Trick? So what, now the demon could fly? I tried to picture it – the two of them soaring through the sky like Superman showing Lois Lane the world from his perspective. I snorted a laugh, and French looked offended.

And where were they supposed to be coming from – Hell? Bat out of Hell. Bats. Vampires. Apparently, what brain cells I had left were crammed full of old movie references. Great. It didn't bode well for future career choices, like nuclear physicist or even competent street sweeper.

But a career was not my top priority. Nessie was. Just thinking her name filled me with a delicious warmth that I recognized as human. I was so glad that particular ability hadn't vanished with the change. It was something I'd felt before with my family and other people I cared about, but this was magnified until it seemed to have its own super power.

"Are you paying attention to me?" French barked impatiently.

"Yeah, of course I am." I'd never broken my determined gaze into his shifty eyes. What more did he want? "It would help, if you'd occasionally say something that was worth listening to. The flattery thing is kind of obvious from someone who claims to be a creative genius."

The muscles around his mouth were taut with anger, but he'd never looked away from me either. "I was trying to explain to you how I came to realize your husband had an extra gift. Surely, you're interested in what he's up to when you're not around."

Malevolence animated his expression again. "We drew quite a lot of attention at the airport. At first, I thought people were feeling sorry for the poor disabled man, but I should have learned by now never to romanticize the human race. I was practically invisible to them, but the women in particular appeared quite . . . enlivened by his presence.

"He does it on purpose, of course, puts off a kind of aura that they find irresistible. I'm very much afraid your Edward is – as they say in the current parlance – a player. How hard it must have been for you as a blushing bride to discover you weren't nearly enough for him."

A variety of sounds emanated from the people around me, but I didn't bother to analyze them. I was too fascinated by a single word French had spoken. _Edward_. Of course, I'd heard it before, but I'd never noticed how it really didn't fit the demon at all. Evil creatures ought to have hard-sounding names – ugly.

French's smirk told me he'd taken my silence as proof that his barb had hit home. I couldn't have that.

"I could care less what my so-called husband's up to, and I'm finding it just a little hard to summon any sympathy for the 'disabled man'. I actually think I like you better, the less of you there is."

"Charming," French sneered. "This is no day at the beach for me either, you know. By rights, I should be encouraged that you've already tired of your new spouse. It would afford an excellent opportunity for me to show you what a real vampire, a real _man_ could offer you. But in order for that to remain the case, I'd have to fail at this enterprise we're attempting, and that would mean not retrieving what's rightfully mine. This carrot-and-stick routine your husband's devised is moronically simple, yet surprisingly obstructive."

"You're doing all this for a carrot?" I said, summoning my inner Rosalie at her most sarcastic.

"I'm doing it for my right arm, a rather essential tool for artistic expression, and one that unfortunately took an earlier flight to this hellhole! That and a small remuneration for my time."

"I wouldn't mind having the extra ability of that woman in Spain. It might not be much of a weapon, but at least I'd have some idea what you're blathering about." I frowned at him. "On second thought, why should I care? It's probably just a pack of lies anyway."

"I was explaining how I surmised that your husband had a special gift."

"Oh, you were bragging again. Okay, that makes sense. Keep going."

"There we were, cruising above the heartland – no doubt the inspiration for the word 'flat-lining,' and I was just drifting off into some rather spectacular fantasies of a more personal nature, involving you, of course, when my seatmate suddenly growled. I turned to find him looking at me with a stare I've only seen once before, nearly 80 years ago, and it was not one I ever hoped to see again. I realized that he'd been following my thoughts."

Once again, I had no idea what he was going on about. Emmett was starting to look bored, though Jasper never took his eyes off the captive's face. How long were we supposed to keep this up?

This staring business was harder than I'd remembered. Maybe because I'd had no doubt I could win that first time, assuming he was human. Knowing he was just as equipped as I was for this contest increased the pressure.

Like before, I was starting to feel light-headed, a tiny bit dizzy. I'd have to talk to Carlisle about it. We were supposed to be able to stare without blinking indefinitely. Maybe some kind of human vision problem had carried over into my new life. I hoped the solution wasn't contacts. Those things really bugged me.

"Don't worry about not fulfilling your duties," French said with an unpleasant smile. "I've killed enough humans for both of us, enough to satisfy whatever quota our creator might have had in mind."

"Who?" I was losing the thread of the conversation. Why did his pupils appear to be mere pinpricks while mine were letting in too much light, making it harder to see?

"Devereux . . . Masen . . . Cullen . . . Whatever your erstwhile husband chooses to call himself at any given moment, as if I'm the only one who relies on aliases. I'm right in assuming he changed you as well?"

"He . . . he made you immortal?" I said, fighting the urge to blink.

"Does it shock you, that he would create someone as ruthless as me?"

Beside me Alice gasped.

"That's a lie!" Emmett said, wrenching French's neck to an odd angle.

"Take it easy!" Carlisle let go of me to stay Emmett's arm.

"No, it doesn't shock me. I know he's a monster."

"Well, apparently it's news to some people." French's face lit up, as he sensed a vulnerability. "You mean the lying devil had his own coven fooled? Ha! What do you think he was doing before he converted to your insipid rules? Why did he pride himself on feeding off the dregs of society? Ask yourselves that!

"Because it gave him a better chance of creating minions as unscrupulous as himself, of course. He was trying to create immortals in his own loathsome image. For every animal you lot brings down, there are probably hundreds of us preying on the innocent, all thanks to your fair-haired boy!"

Everybody started talking at once. I couldn't make out what they were saying for a persistent ringing in my ears. When had that started? It felt like it had been there forever. The important thing was that now the Cullens had heard the truth – from someone besides poor confused Bella.

This was what I'd so desperately needed, something to sway them to my point of view and ensure Nessie's safety. I hoped it was enough, because I didn't think I could hold on much longer. My head was spinning, and everything appeared washed out, unreal.

Without Carlisle's steadying arm, the influx of light coursing through me seemed to be melting my indestructible bones. My knees buckled, my eyes closed involuntarily, breaking the gaze I'd tried so hard to keep up, and suddenly I was lying on the ground.

I had lost.

Above me and what seemed very far away, there were sounds of a struggle, more yelling. Alice was beside me, frantically shaking my shoulder.

"Bella? Bella, what is it? What's wrong?"

My eyes scrunched more tightly closed, as I tried to make myself as small as possible. "I'm okay, Alice," I whispered. "Just please, leave me alone."

Then miraculously Carlisle was agreeing with me, his voice soft yet commanding. "Come away, Alice. It's time for us to go."

"But –"

Her hand slipped from my arm and the tangled voices, the thrashing footsteps retreated, until only the natural sounds of the forest remained. Never had solitude been so welcome. I couldn't deal with the complexities of people – expecting something from me, talking, always talking.

I hugged myself to the warm earth, trying to hold on, my fingers grasping the soft grass that for once wasn't wet and cold. It helped. It's all inside, I told myself, the confusion, the chaos. It doesn't mean anything. Or if it did, I couldn't figure out what.

Not all the legends about vampires had to be false. Sun was bad for us, always, in one way or another. I'd found that out before, and even though it wasn't quite as bright a day as that other one, it was enough to have a similar affect.

I probably ought to be thinking about something important, but that required accessing my brain, and the place was a madhouse. The wind that was largely absent from the surrounding forest seemed to have taken up residence in my head, scooping up the fallen puzzle pieces and tossing them around too quickly for me to tell what they were supposed to represent.

The turmoil made it seem like they'd multiplied. Along with the birds that refused to light, the brightly colored fish darting about, and all the other analogies I'd used to try and make sense of what was happening to me, there didn't seem any room left for a coherent thought.

Like that other Alice fighting off the deck of playing cards, I struggled for the surface. For her, it had been as easy as waking up. That wasn't going to do it for me. I tried visualizing my mind as a crowded ocean and me swimming like crazy to escape it.

There, that was better. I would imagine myself floating along the top, relaxed, barely skimming the troubled waters, just in touch enough to function.

I still felt vaguely guilty that I wasn't pondering some pressing problem. I was pretty sure I had a few.

Forget it, I told myself.

Being bombarded with random images wasn't the same as thinking. It was safer up here on the surface, at least for a while.

With my eyes shut tight, there was nothing to dwell on but the real birds singing in the trees, and that was pleasant, simple. I made no attempt to isolate their individual songs. Together it was like a symphony, soothing, with its own natural path to follow, demanding nothing from me.

After several minutes, I summoned my courage and took a peek.

What I saw was just the green grass in front of my eyes, my fingers playing through it, but the image was distinct. That was good.

A tiny blue and black beetle was making its way up a sturdy blade. I followed its journey till it reached the top and started back down, wondering what its mission had been.

Back to floating.

Sometime later a tiny buzzing noise caught my attention, and I opened my eyes again to see a dragonfly, like a little jeweled helicopter darting back and forth on translucent wings. I lifted my head a few inches to watch, relieved that the movement didn't make me woozy and that objects in the near distance, at least, had regained their colors.

When I closed my eyes again and lowered my cheek to the earth, nothing whirled or tilted oddly. That must be good. I gave it a few minutes before trying something a little more daring. This time, I propped myself up on my left elbow and slowly opened my eyes. Now I could see across the clearing, no sun-blindness or whatever it had been. Everything looked normal – in a kickass vampire kind of way.

I raised my head farther and took in more of my surroundings. Trees and ferns, boulders and someone crouching in the grass about 30 feet away, watching me.

_Huh._

I lay down again. Too much, too soon? That last part – real? Or just my imagination? I'd thought my imagination was safely submerged in the same ocean where I'd left my thoughts and emotions, the ocean that swelled beneath me now, reminding me of its existence.

Only one way to be sure. Cautiously, I raised myself up again, tilting my head back and looking in the same direction I had before. The figure was still there, solid as the tree trunks, still as the stones.

I should say something. That seemed called for, but I was reluctant to dip below the waves, fearful of what I'd come up with. I wondered if I even had a voice, floating as I was on very edge of consciousness.

Sure enough, when I tried to make a sound, it didn't come at first. Clearing my throat seemed to help, but I still had no idea what I was about to say. I took a deep breath.

"I haven't seen that jacket in a while. I always liked it."

There. That was weird, but polite, and it felt true.

"I know."

Two words that found their way to my imaginary ocean and sent it rocking. Riding the resulting wave was just as thrilling as I'd always thought it must be, if I was a surfer, which I was pretty sure I wasn't.

That exchange had gone well, I thought. Any other tips on how to behave in a social situation were bobbing around under me someplace out of reach, but I was pretty sure I was supposed to keep the conversation going.

I bit my lip, trying to come up with something coherent and failing. Finally, I just decided to wing it.

"You tore that man's leg off."

That was less polite, a little accusatory, but also, I thought, true.

He merely nodded. His eyes had never left my face. Honey-colored they were – like his voice.

"Did you take his arm off too?"

"Yes." His expression didn't change. Unreadable.

"Huh." I said aloud, not sure what the appropriate response to that should be. I considered lying back down, but it really didn't feel necessary anymore. My equilibrium was back. My eyesight seemed to be restored. It was just hard to summon words without thought.

When a few finally bubbled to the surface again, they were even more unexpected. "Do you think . . . could you just . . . would you mind coming a little bit closer?" Polite again, and with a purpose, though the feeling that prompted it was still impossible for me to access.

"If that's what you want." He rose slowly, gracefully. So tall. I took in the long legs, the broad shoulders, skimming past his face under the sudden conviction that lingering there would be like looking into the sun, and watched in fascination as the breeze toyed with his hair.

Hadn't the day been windless until now? Well, of course, the wind could hardly be expected to resist such an appealing place to play.

His steps in my direction were slow and deliberate. He continued to study my face, probably for some clue to where he should stop, until he was about six feet away. "Here?"

I took a breath, too, and my head filled with the most delicious scent. It made me dizzy again, but in a good way. Beneath me, the ocean rolled. "Closer," I said, patting the grass beside me.

He hesitated then, and something clutched inside me. I held my breath until he moved again, stopping just inches from me. His long legs folded under him in one effortless motion. He wrapped his arms loosely around his knees.

I couldn't look at him, not this close. Instead, I focused on his hands. They were so beautiful, the fingers long. Strong and somehow sensitive looking at the same time. Still, not really thinking, I slowly reached out and slipped my hand into his. The sensation when his closed cautiously around it was overwhelming.

The ocean heaved beneath me. I couldn't do it, couldn't float on the surface any longer, and it scared me. "Could you . . . hold me?"

This time he didn't hesitate. He put his arms around me, pulling me carefully to his chest. I felt the exhalation of his own breath, as if he'd been holding it for a long time, and buried my face in his sweet-smelling neck. My fingers clutched at the lapels of his wool coat.

"Tighter," I whispered, and held on for dear life as I felt myself sinking below the waves.


	33. Pictures

Chapter 33

Pictures

The chaos was gone. Everything perfectly lucid, and one true thing dominated it all.

The puzzle was complete.

It was the most beautiful picture I'd ever seen. No horrible blankness, no spinning black hole. At the center was me, clear and whole, and Edward and Renesmee, not three pieces, but one.

Around us, everyone who mattered most fit perfectly. Even the funny jigsaw lines I'd sometimes imagined had disappeared. There was nothing separating us from the ones we loved, and everything holding us all together, too strong for anything to tear apart.

"Oh, God," I breathed, still holding onto him for dear life. My nose was nestled at the hollow of his throat, and that incomparable aroma, more soothing than any Jasper could ever conjure up, swept through me like sunlight.

His embrace was secure and yet so gentle that I wondered if he thought I was in danger of breaking.

My own, on the other hand, still screamed of desperation. His coat, the one that brought back so many special memories to me, was in jeopardy of going the way of Esme's chair.

I released my death grip, and Edward moved me gently away, scrutinizing my face. His own still looked wary.

"How do you feel?"

I blinked, taking careful inventory of everything going on inside me – no pain, no dizziness or fear. Even the confusion had evaporated. "This is going to sound strange, but I feel . . . normal. I feel . . . like me. Only I haven't felt this way in such a long time . . ."

Suddenly, I could sense the horror registering in my expression like a ghostly image in the darkroom. "Oh, but you don't know! I've been deranged, vicious –"

"You remember that?"

"I remember everything. Everything from before and everything that's gone on these last weeks with no gap in between. It's not even like it's a big deal. It's just all there!"

Slowly, a smile spread across his face, tugging my heart along with it. His golden eyes seemed lit from within.

And I didn't deserve any of it.

"Edward, I'm so, so sorry! I can't even–"

"Don't," he interrupted. "None of it was your fault."

"But you don't know the horrible things I've been thinking and saying . . ."

"They're meaningless. French has an insidious power. There was no way you could have fought it."

He'd said "has."

"You mean, he's still alive?"

"There's no need for you to think about him."

There was no need for me to be a mind reader either to guess Edward's feelings on the subject.

A human incident, so intense it remained sharp in my memory, took me to a dark parking lot and a silver Volvo roaring down on my tormenters. I remembered his frantic demand to distract him from the overwhelming urge to savage them all.

And I'd been the only victim.

French's malice had threatened to destroy not only me, but Edward and Renesmee and the people who loved us. "You must want very badly to kill him yourself," I said quietly. "I completely understand."

He gathered me close again, his face in my hair, and whispered, "Not as much as I want to be here, holding you."

I couldn't think of a single thing I wanted as much either. I gave myself up to it, my lips pressed against his throat, my fingers sliding into his silky hair, as I relaxed against him.

Despite the malevolence that had invaded our world, it was nearly impossible to focus on vengeance and death with life flowing like a tangible force between us. Or maybe it was love.

Maybe there isn't a difference.

Neither of us spoke for a long time, reluctant to disturb this reminder of the serenity that had been stolen from us – it seemed like months ago – until my brain, probably protesting the fact that it had been put to no good use for so long, started demanding answers.

The sequence of events that had caused the debacle was orderly in my mind now, although the mechanics weren't clear, and the depravity of it was almost impossible to comprehend.

"How could that happen? How did French get into my head when you can't?"

"He didn't." Edward released me from his embrace, taking my hands in his. "His ability is more like Jasper's – it affects emotions, the strongest ones you have. He flips them, turns them into their opposites. The only way your mind can reconcile such prevailing passion is to dismiss any memory that's incompatible. You're left with only the facts that fit your new feelings. As immortal talents go, I'd rank it right up there with Jane's for pure sadism."

"Evil for its own sake." I shuddered. "How did you know he could undo it?"

"I didn't. Neither did he. He never even understood how he caused it in the first place. My guess is he simply repeated the same efforts he'd made the first time you met, and everything turned around again."

"Thank goodness." I exhaled, almost limp with relief that I hadn't gotten stuck that way.

"Did he try it on you?" I asked, gazing anxiously into his face, mesmerized as always by the sight of his beautiful lips, at the moment curling with disdain.

"No, he was trapped in that regard." His sneer relaxed into a smile. "If he'd succeeded in turning me against you, my pain would have vanished. That was the last thing he wanted."

"So it was you he was trying to punish." That made a lot more sense than picking on some vampire he'd never met before.

"Not exactly a new scenario, is it?" Edward said, tension back in his expression.

"Don't," I whispered, leaning forward to tenderly kiss the corners of his mouth until he relaxed again. "What hurts one of us hurts both of us. That's just the way it is. Why did he have it in for you?" Suddenly, I remembered an important question. "He said you made him immortal. Is that true?"

"One of the few truths he ever uttered, yes." Something flickered in Edward's eyes, but he held my gaze. "It wasn't intentional, and the others he mentioned – all lies."

"I know that," I said gently. My fingers went to his face, softly caressing its sublime perfection before the stiffness could return.

"How do you know that?"

"Because I know you. You would never purposely do that to someone else."

"You know part of me, Bella," he said, still sounding troubled. "There's a lot I've never told you."

I had gone from 0 to 60 in a few minutes. From miserable and alienated and confused back to the luckiest, happiest person in the entire world. It hadn't been like that for Edward.

Whatever doubts and depressing images had haunted him these last weeks, thanks to me, hadn't just turned off like magic. I needed to pull him back into the happy place he created for me.

"Okay," I said. "I know you're the most flawless person, inside and out, I've ever met or could even imagine. I know that I love you more than it's ever been possible for anyone to love before, and I know I've been telling everyone who would listen that you're a stalker, a demon, a murderer and worse. That seems like a pretty unbiased evaluation to me."

A little breath of laughter puffed from his perfect nose and he smiled. "When you put it like that . . ."

"This all had to be so much worse for you! I was unhappy and empty, but I didn't know why. You knew what we'd lost – everything. You had to leave your own family because of the ranting, raving crazy person, and that's so unfair. I had them to support me. You had no one."

"That's not strictly true," he said, looking a little uncomfortable. "I hope you won't hold it against them that they were doing double duty, coming down to the cottage nearly every day."

"The cottage," I repeated. "I'd completely forgotten it."

"I noticed," he said dryly.

"But that figures, right? The way you describe French's trick, it makes total sense, because the cottage is my favorite place in the whole world!"

Now that everything was starting to fall into place, I had a million questions. I couldn't stop talking.

"So that's where everybody kept disappearing to – they were spending time with you. Oh, Edward, I can't tell you how much better that makes me feel! I can't believe you were so close all along."

"I promised never to leave you again. I needed to be nearby to protect you, and it gave Renesmee stability."

"Omigod, Renesmee! She was with you that whole time, right?"

"If you remember, we agreed she shouldn't be without a parent."

"And you're the reason I got her back?"

"When I had to leave to find French, yes."

"That must have been so confusing for her, but she never let on. She just kept twinkling at me like she knew some funny secret."

"She's incredible. Mature enough to grasp the seriousness of the situation and young enough to enjoy playing pretend. She thinks you were under an evil spell."

"Well, she's right. I can't think of a better way to put it. So French hated you for turning him? That surprises me. He sounded like he really got off on being a monster."

"There was more to it than that. It's a long story."

"I'd like to hear it."

"If you want . . . sometime."

"How could anyone ever hate you?" I blurted with complete sincerity. I couldn't get enough of taking in his beauty, his voice, his everything.

"I was under the impression you could give lessons in it," he said, cocking one eyebrow.

"Don't even joke about that. You have no idea how obnoxious I was. I tried constantly to turn your own family against you. You'd never forgive me if you knew how rotten I acted."

"I do know, and you said nothing that wasn't true. All the things you accused me of . . . they were based on fact."

"But they were all taken out of context," I argued. "It can't be the truth if you're not seeing the whole picture. It's like the blind men and the elephant. It's like . . . like . . ." I struggled to find a good comparison, hoping my newfound talent for analogies hadn't deserted me when I needed it most.

"It's like picking up a mirror and saying it doesn't work because you're looking at the back. You have to be able to turn it around and see the other side, and I couldn't do that. He put the most destructive ideas in my head."

"Shh!" Two elegant fingers pressed gently against my lips. "I need you to listen to me. It's very important that you recognize something. French put nothing into your head. The negative things were already there; you just refused to look at them."

"Why should I? The positive things were always so much more powerful."

"Because," he said, furrowing his brow. "Because ignoring them, doesn't mean they don't exist. I only recently learned that lesson myself. You just said that there are two sides to every truth. You've been ignoring that for too long – for my benefit, and . . . and it needs to stop."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"It's all right," he said, soothing again. "You've been through enough today. It can wait."

"You know what can't wait," I said, seizing the opportunity. "Do you know how long it's been since you've kissed me?"

Here came the crooked grin, as if I wasn't receptive enough. "I'm guessing that you don't want an actual rundown – days, hours, minutes . . ."

"No, I don't." I didn't wait for him to make the first move, bringing my lips up to his, twining my hands again in his glorious hair.

And he didn't hold back.

No one's as sensual as Edward. He does amazing things with his mouth. In an instant I was lost in a world that was all sensation, all feelings so intense I couldn't name them, all . . . him.

When he pulled away, I was mildly surprised to find I was on my back. It didn't seem like a bad place to be. "Don't stop there," I whispered. "Please . . . I need you so much."

But he was already disentangling himself from my hold. "Believe me, I don't want to stop, but we have a lot of lost time to make up for. If we start now, we're liable to be here for days."

"And that's a problem – why?" I persisted, still caressing him.

He grinned. "You're already spreading vicious rumors about me. Next you'll be telling people I'm easy."

"Not hardly," I said, swatting the arm that had committed the unpardonable sin of letting me go.

"No, seriously. Believe it or not we are on a timetable. We need to get back to the house."

I sat up, trying to think of something that could be half as important as making love with Edward. "You mean because of French?"

"That's part of it, but he won't be a problem much longer. I was thinking more of our family. You realize, they're all on pins and needles waiting to hear if this actually worked. Don't you think it's a little cruel to keep them wondering?"

"Oh," I said, appreciating his point. "You're right. There's been enough cruelty around here, but Alice will have been watching. She must have told them I didn't yell bloody murder at the sight of you. That should give them a clue."

"True, but it can't come close to answering all the questions they're bound to have," he said, helping me to my feet.

"I'm not sure I've got all the answers straight yet."

Edward took my hand, and we started walking. "Just seeing you for themselves will do a world of good."

"And Renesmee will be back soon. She's with Jake."

"Actually, she's already back," he said. "Jacob was waiting for my call. I made it as soon as we landed, and he had her back at the house in time for me to see her before I came here."

It sounded like everyone had been in touch with Edward. Everyone but me.

"She must have been relieved to see you," I said, imagining the way her face could quite literally light up with joy. "Do you think my behavior has traumatized her?"

"All she wanted to talk about was you," he said, grinning. "I heard all about your tea party, and bug-hunting and mud pies. She's had a terrific time these last few days."

"She didn't mention anything about me being mad as a hatter?"

"She thought you were hilarious."

"Really?" It was true I'd lightened up once she was with me, but I didn't exactly recall being a laugh a minute.

Edward said nothing. He'd curled in his lower lip and was studiously not looking at me.

"What?" I said, suspiciously. "You're up to something."

"No, I'm not. It was you." The smile he'd been suppressing came out to play. "She said you kept calling her 'Nessie'."

"Oh, arghh! I did. I didn't know any better. I forgot she had a perfectly beautiful name. Stupid one-legged, one-armed, two-faced, nasty-cologne-wearing vampire!"

Edward laughed, my favorite sound in the whole world – or right up there anyway. "That's his unforgiveable sin, is it?"

"One of them. On the bright side, we're a little more balanced now. Remember how you wanted to kill me?" He gave me a sideways glance and started to say something but finally just nodded. "Well, I actually toyed with the idea of killing you."

"And this makes you feel better?"

"Of course not. But I was totally paranoid, convinced that you were going to take Renesmee and turn her into some kind of monster. It occurred to me I might have to try and kill you to prevent that."

Edward snorted a small laugh, and actually made it sound sexy.

_Amazing._

"Emmett was way ahead of you on that one."

"What do you mean?"

"He came down to the cottage that first day, advising me to move farther away. He was genuinely afraid that in your frame of mind, if we happened to cross paths, you might succeed in killing me – the newborn strength, you know?"

"Boy, he's never gotten over that arm-wrestling contest, has he?"

"Apparently not, but I appreciated his concern."

"Actually, I do too. How am I ever going to make this up to them? They must have had to work hard every day not to throttle me."

"It was a labor of love, and besides they knew I'd take a dim view of the throttling."

We probably should have been moving faster to get to the people we loved, to let them off the hook, but walking hand-in-hand, just as if nothing had ever happened, felt like a miracle. This place that was all trees and boring ferns suddenly seemed like the very definition of Heaven.

"And Jake. He knew what was going on too?"

"As much as any of us did. He was actually a big help despite the fact you nearly gave him heart failure that day at the river."

Remembering that incident from this new perspective made me feel sorry for Jacob. "I must have made him miserable, too."

"He's used to it," Edward teased. "He can take it."

"You were so close all that time," I mused, shaking my head. "I can't believe I didn't sense it somehow."

"Under the circumstances, that was for the best."

"Except this one night, about a week ago, I think. It's hard to tell. The days just seemed to run together, but I had the feeling someone was in the house. It wasn't a good feeling or a bad one specifically, just very strange – a kind of buzz."

"The night my sisters insisted on torturing you with dress up."

"Omigod," I said, stopping. "That's exactly right! You were there? Why didn't you . . . why didn't you . . ."

"What – drop by and say hello?" His smile was ironic, but it still sent my insides fluttering. "You would have screamed the house down, lost all trust in my family and we'd have been back to square one."

"I never realized we got off square one," I murmured, and we both resumed walking. "Why did you risk it?"

"I needed to get to my journals – the ones from my years away from Carlisle. We'd run out of places to look for clues."

"That couldn't have been easy for you – revisiting things you worked hard to forget."

Edward shrugged. "Frustrating, until I got to the very end."

"And that's where you came across French?" Boy, I had a lot to catch up on.

"I wasn't expecting anything like that," he said with a frown, "not after the music returned."

"The music?"

He didn't explain. He'd sucked in his cheeks and the pucker was back – a sure sign he was deep in thought.

"That reminds me," I said, slowing again, "Rose found the song you wrote for her. Did she tell you?"

"No. It must have annoyed her. That's par for the Rosalie Hale course."

"The song didn't annoy her, but I did."

"She took it out on you?" He bridled in an instant, the way he always did when Rose's name came up as a suspect.

"Not like that. I saw her take it out of the piano bench one night, and she was obviously touched by it. Seriously, she looked like she was about to cry, and then she got all huffy with me, and I didn't understand why, but now I do. She resented me for chasing you out of your own home. She had every right to feel that way."

All I wanted was to give him everything, and here I'd been taking absolutely everything he loved away from him. "Thanks to me, you couldn't even play your piano."

"I wasn't in the mood."

"Are you in the mood now?" I asked anxiously.

He gave me one of those slitted looks along with the curl of a smile. "Getting there."

"Gah. I owe so many people an apology."

"You owe no one an apology, Bella. You weren't responsible for the way you acted, and everybody knows that."

"But I _need_ to apologize," I insisted. "It will make me feel better."

"If you insist."

"I don't like feeling guilty, even if it wasn't my fault – not when I'm so happy. I just want everyone else to feel the same way. Are you happy, Edward?"

He stopped then and turned to trace my face with his fingertips. "Can you really doubt that? To see you smiling again – there are no words."

"I'm going to make it up to you – every second that we were apart. I'm not going to let that miserable excuse for an immortal rob us of a single moment of our eternity. But, I know, everyone's waiting."

"They can wait a little longer," he said huskily and pulled me to him. I knew we were just standing there in the sunlight, but his kisses send me somewhere else entirely, and thank God for his big hands – those long fingers. He can pull every part of me against him in less time than it takes me to long for it.

When he drew away, he made one of those little Edward sounds in his throat that makes my whole body go stupid with desire. "They're about to send out a search party," he announced regretfully.

"Well, surely Alice can see that we're busy."

"Do you really want her giving a play-by-play to the whole family?"

"Ugh. You're right. We better get going."

He took my hand again with a sideways smile that made every nerve in my body tingle, and we started walking a bit faster.

I got a little nervous as we drew closer to the house. Edward sensed my unease, but not the reason for it.

"Please don't worry about French. He can't hurt anyone."

"He's here?" I pulled up short.

"Locked safely away," he said with an expression I didn't understand.

"Where? In that tomb you guys have in the basement?"

"No, I'm afraid that's in use, but we have a full-sized vault down there as well. I meant it literally, he's in the safe."

"Will it hold him? I mean, he is a vampire."

"Well, technically he's a very lopsided vampire at the moment, but yes, the trial run was successful."

I had no idea what he was talking about, but his grin was so hypnotic, I didn't really care. It took me a moment to find my voice again. "It's not really him I was worrying about. It's the family. They're going to freak when they see us together."

"Alice has prepared them," he assured me, "but, you're right, there will be freaking involved. Just keep in mind that you'll be making them very happy."

We'd scarcely mounted the steps, when Alice flung the front door open. "Oh, they're here!" she squealed in a register that threatened to crack the window wall. "And they're holding hands!"

She grabbed me first in her surprisingly strong little grip. "Welcome back, Bella!"

"Gosh, Alice," I muttered in her ear. "If you get this excited by a little hand-holding, remind us never to kiss in front of you."

"Oh, like we could avoid seeing that!" She turned her attention to Edward. "Welcome home!" she exclaimed, embracing him fiercely.

Carlisle appeared behind her. His eyes swept over me in what I guessed was a cursory examination, although our faces probably told most of the story.

"All of it?" A sharp look at Edward.

"All of it," he confirmed.

"Welcome back, Bella." Carlisle pulled me into a hug. "I only wish we could have managed it sooner. My apologies for leaving you like that in the woods, but it was evident something profound was happening, something the rest of us weren't equipped to deal with. I trust we left you in good hands."

"The best," I agreed with a lump in my throat.

"Everyone's a little keyed up about all this, but I've asked them to take it easy. We knew you wouldn't like feeling besieged."

"Everyone except me!" Alice reminded him, bouncing in place.

"Yes, Alice has a special dispensation for services rendered. And if you're wondering where your daughter is," Carlisle added, "she's finishing up a present for you."

"You're going to accept this one graciously, right?" Alice said ominously.

"Of course, I love homemade gifts."

Alice danced off ahead of us, and Carlisle continued, "You need time to unwind, I know, but later on when things have calmed down I'd like to talk to you, Bella, about your ordeal. I don't expect it to be repeated, but the experience should be documented. We might even consider sharing it with our . . . friends . . . in Italy. What do you think, Edward?"

"It would buy us some goodwill with Aro and cost us nothing," he agreed. "Anything to prolong the period before he becomes irritated with our existence again."

"That was my thinking, too. Well, I should let you two go on in, and I apologize ahead of time for the . . . uh . . . cavalcade of Cullens."

"What does that mean?" I asked Edward, as Carlisle withdrew.

He raised an eyebrow, effectively giving me my one-word answer: Alice.

We moved into the next room, and there perched on the sofa was our daughter, her little legs stuck out in front of her, one of Esme's drawing pads in her lap. She looked up when we entered and said in the most matter-of-fact way possible, "Hi, Momma! I'm drawing you a special picture. It's not quite finished."

I laughed. "Not traumatized," I said to Edward.

"Evidently, not."

"Oh, you two!" Esme had us both in her embrace before I ever saw her coming. "I'm just so relieved, so overjoyed. I don't even know how to describe it."

"We know," Edward told her. "Thank you for taking such good care of Bella."

"But we didn't! At least, we all felt like we weren't much use at all, but we did try, honey."

"You succeeded," I insisted, hugging her back. "Really. I don't know what I would have done without your patience. You kept me going every day when I didn't see the point."

"Ixnay on _The Wind Beneath My Wings_," Alice reminded me, as she blew past. "Okay, Jazz. It's your turn!"

Esme went to sit beside Renesmee who was wielding a red crayon with great concentration. Alice returned, clutching Jasper by the arm. "Here they are," she announced, as if he could have missed us standing in the middle of the room like a wax exhibit.

"I feel like I'm at a damn cotillion," he growled to Alice, before turning to Edward and me. "But I must say you make a striking couple. You're a real fighter, sugar," he said, kissing my cheek. "And that was some show you put on today," he told Edward. "You planning to bring us a freak like that every time you go to the big city?"

"No immediate plans, no." Edward smiled at him.

"Sorry to hear that. It was very diverting."

"He's not going anywhere for a while, if I can help it," I added.

"Your turn, Emmett," Alice caroled, as she and Jasper took a seat.

So they were doing this one by one, in an effort not to overwhelm me, taking turns greeting us and then remaining for a group chat. Not working, I thought, clutching Edward's hand tighter. "I feel like the main attraction in a really weird zoo," I hissed at him.

He let go to put his arm around me, pulling me close. "They mean well," he whispered. "Think of it as that apology you wanted to make."

"Helluva game, bro," Emmett boomed, grabbing Edward in a headlock. "Helluva game! And it's good to see you looking happy again, newbie!" He switched his attention to me, grabbing me in a smothering hug.

For the life of me, I couldn't see how that bear ever got the best of him. "I figured everything was going to be okay," he continued, "when Alice said you two were rolling around on the ground sucking face."

"We were not rolling," I protested.

"And I did not use the term "sucking face." Alice added with a scornful look.

"Whatever," Emmett said, unperturbed. "Hey, Edward, get her to wear that slinky number she had on the other night. Very hot. You'll like it."

"Should I ask what you've been up to?" Edward said with an arch look.

"No . . . yes! I haven't been up to anything." I spluttered.

"For pity's sake, Emmett," Rosalie said, sliding into our little circle. "They just got back together, and you're already trying to cause trouble. Bella, sweetie, it's so good to see you feeling like yourself again." She hugged me enthusiastically and then turned to Edward.

To my surprise, she slipped her arms very determinedly around his neck and hugged him tight. "I really missed you," she whispered. "And I'm so glad you're home."

"Thank you, Rose." Edward returned her embrace, though when she pulled away, the guardedness was back in her expression. "However, I imagine you'll get over it," he said with a smile that could cause global warming.

"God, I hope so. Nobody else in this coven is any match for me at all!"

"I'm finished, Momma!" Renesmee cried hurrying toward us, a page from the sketch pad waving in her hand. I caught her up in my arms, laughing. "Can you tell what it is?" she asked anxiously.

"Of course, I can! It's a totally great picture of a ladybug!"

"Uh-huh, a Coccinellidae. I made it cause it's like you."

"It is? Well, let's see, I'm not red with black spots and I don't have six legs. Give me a hint."

"It's very beautiful and it makes venom," she announced proudly.

"Ladybugs are venomous? I better take another look at that bug book, I guess." I squeezed her tight, kissing her flushed cheek. "I'm sorry I've been acting so strange, baby, but I'm all better now."

"It's okay," she said, patting my cheek. "Daddy broke the spell."

I probably had a parental duty to correct her assumption but couldn't come up with a better description of what had happened, so I just said, "Yes, he did."

"Who was it, daddy?" She looked to Edward, a fierce expression on her sweet face. "Was it a witch or a bad wizard or a troll?"

"I'm going with troll on this one," Edward told her soberly.

"Works for me," I added.

"Please, come and sit down," Esme called. "We have so many questions, and you probably have a few of your own."

"I'd like to say something first," I heard myself announce. I set Renesmee down, keeping one arm around her, and whispered to Edward, "Don't leave me."

"And invite another disaster?"

To my great relief he pulled me back against him, encircling my waist with his arms. With that kind of security, I was able to keep my inherent shyness at bay, as I looked around at the expectant faces of his family – our family.

"I just want to say how much I appreciate everything you've done for me these last weeks, so much more than I had any right to expect." From the corner of my eye, I could see Esme about to protest, but Carlisle silenced her with a look. "I mean, it's one thing to help someone who's in trouble but to disrupt your entire family–"

"I didn't feel disrupted," Emmett said loyally. "Did you feel disrupted, Jazz?"

"I think she was referring to Edward – the whole _persona non grata_ situation," Jasper explained carefully.

Emmett struggled with that one a moment and finally just grinned. "Oh, we'd been thinking of throwing the bum out for a while now anyway. No biggie."

"Let her finish." The low warning came so close to my ear, it sent a delicious tremor through my contentedly sheltered body.

"I was saying terrible things," I continued, "and making unreasonable demands, but you just humored me despite how awful it must have been for all of you. You did your best to comfort me, and most of all you didn't abandon him. I can't tell you what a relief it is, knowing you never bought into a single thing I said."

"So you want we should keep that up?" Emmett asked, still determined to lighten the mood. "I can be an excellent non-listener."

I made a face at him. "I just want you to know, I'll never forget, and I'll always love every single one of you for what you did. That's it."

Now that I'd finished, I felt conspicuous again, standing in the middle of the room, but Edward left me no time to think about it, steering me quickly to the sofa where we sat down with Renesmee snuggled between us.

Then the questions started, flying back and forth with everyone talking over each other. What had it felt like for me when French was using his "gift"? Had I really recovered all my lost memories? What had Edward been up to these last few days?

Carlisle seemed to know more than anyone else about that last part, but even he hadn't heard the details. We were all so enthralled with the discussion that it surprised me when Alice suddenly rose and announced, "They'll be here soon."

Before I could even ask Edward who she meant, Alice was holding out her arms to Renesmee, saying, "Why don't you come with me for a little while, Nessie. I have a special treat for you in the kitchen."

"No, thank you," she answered, pressing herself close to the two of us. "I'm not hungry."

"Not even for some delicious blood?" Alice said, enticingly. "Carlisle brought it especially from the hospital."

My adorable half-predator daughter lit up in response. "Oh! Yes, please!" She leapt into Alice's arms and waved a cheerful "goodbye" as they left the room.

"What's going on?" I said to Edward.

"Nothing for you to worry about." His lips skimmed over my hair, and he pulled me closer. "You'll see."

Emmett had gone to the foyer where he took up a post looking out into the darkness.

"I thought the only people Bella talked to that day were humans," Rosalie said. "What made you think an immortal was involved?"

I listened enthralled as Edward told of Renesmee's childish belief that magic was at fault. "None of our research had given us a human explanation for Bella's condition. That left only a supernatural one."

"But this guy, French, wasn't even on our radar, right?" Jasper frowned. "How did that happen?"

"It's a long story," Carlisle said with a quick look at Edward.

"Well, we've got eternity to hear it," Jasper reasoned. "I'll bet you can fit it in."

"Hey, Mom," Emmett called from the doorway. "There's a coupla Volturi out here, and one of them has an extra leg. Do I let 'em in or what?"

"Of course," Esme said, jumping up with Carlisle right behind her.

_Volturi_?

I looked at Edward in alarm, but he didn't seem surprised. In fact, no one did. Before I could demand an explanation, two figures slid into the house, one normal size, the other bending to clear the doorway.

"Dimitri, Felix," Carlisle said formally.

"Welcome to our home," Esme added in gracious hostess mode.

"When we received your invitation," Dimitri said without greeting, "there was no mention of a scavenger hunt as part of the event. Was it really necessary to hurl this . . . item . . . so deeply into the wilderness?" He glanced with disgust at the leg, twitching and thrashing under Felix's arm.

"We have total faith in your abilities as a tracker," Carlisle said smoothly. "Thank you for returning it."

"It stinks in here," Felix announced, scowling.

Beside us, Rosalie jumped up and headed toward the visitors. "It does, doesn't it? Everyone else claims they've gotten used to it, but I can't get the wet dog smell out of here to save me."

Felix looked at her only briefly and turned back to Carlisle. "So where is he?"

"I know where he is, Felix," Dimitri snapped. "He's right below us."

"I'll go with you," Carlisle said pleasantly. "You'll need the combination, and the other missing part of him is nearby. I would ask that once you've collected everything you came for, you leave by the back door. Jasper, could you join us, please?"

Jazz shot to the foyer. That left only me and Edward. We stood up too, Edward positioning himself slightly in front of me.

"Oh, and Edward," Dimitri said, acknowledging our presence for the first time, "these impromptu little visits you keep instigating – they always turn out to be amusing in one way or another, I'll grant you, but I think I speak for the entire guard when I say, you really should consider relocating. This area is dismal in the extreme."

"Few places have the incomparable charms of Volterra," Edward said with an easy smile.

"Of course . . . and how are you tonight, Mrs. Cullen?" Dimitri asked with a courtly nod in my direction.

"Me? I'm fine . . . thanks." I had no idea what to say to him beyond that, but luckily Edward spoke.

"Does the name Martel mean anything to you?"

"Martel?" Dimitri turned his cold focus back on my husband. "No, nothing."

"That's odd. The image that formed in your mind at the sound of it was very specific."

A muscle twitched in Dimitri's jaw, and for a moment, I thought he wouldn't respond.

"Has anyone ever told you that this little gift of yours is extremely annoying?"

"Frequently."

The march to the basement had halted. The others looked as clueless as I was at the direction the conversation had taken.

Except for Carlisle. He appeared interested, but not puzzled.

Oh, and Felix, who just stood there looking bored. Probably didn't know what to do with himself, if he didn't have someone smaller to pulverize. The twitching leg under his arm wasn't much competition.

Dimitri approached us. "How do you know that name anyway?"

"I ran across it recently in something I read," Edward replied with every appearance of innocence. "I was curious."

"Well, perhaps you could learn a thing or two from that little bit of history." Dimitri cast a meaningful look around the room. "Martel was an immortal who thought she could make her own rules. She had amassed a considerable amount of wealth despite being less than a century old. I was dispatched to find her when she became too careless about drawing attention."

"You and Felix," Edward said.

"Yes," he smiled, as if recalling a pleasant outing. "That woman had so many passbooks and safe deposit keys. It took weeks for us to clean them all out, but the contribution to the Volturi coffers was quite substantial."

"And she simply gave you these things?"

Edward's tone was still casual, deceptively so, I thought, though I couldn't imagine why.

"No." This time Dimitri actually laughed. It had an ugly ring to it. "As I recall, she had them frozen in a block of ice. A human might never have noticed they were there, but of course we found them immediately."

"Immediately? Or after you slashed the furniture and pulled up the floor boards?"

Dimitri's eyes snapped to Edward's full of suspicion. I couldn't blame him. I got the definite feeling something was going on here beneath the surface that I didn't understand either.

"It's a gift," Edward said by way of apology.

Dimitri stared at him a moment longer, trying, I thought, to ferret out a hidden agenda. "You Cullens would do well to remember that wealth and rebellion are a dangerous combination in our world. Creating your own rules, banding together, these things usually end badly. My advice is to tread carefully."

"And it's so good of you to share your advice with us," Esme said quickly, coming to take his arm. "We do appreciate your traveling all this way to help with our little problem."

She looked sweet and sincere and grateful. Part of me wanted to throw up a little, but the bigger, smarter part knew Esme was providing an essential service for us all.

It worked, too. Dimitri relaxed visibly, switching from threatening to gallant in response. "Always a pleasure to see you, my dear Esme," he said, kissing her hand. "Please tell Alice I'm sorry we missed her."

"Aro's determined that she will join us someday, along with you," he said turning toward Edward again, "but I have to say, if I had to be around you constantly, I think I'd go mad."

"Rest assured, Dimitri. Your sanity is perfectly safe."

"Right . . . well, goodnight then."

The march to the basement resumed, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Edward pulled me against his chest, and we sat back down. "I was so afraid he'd ask after Renesmee."

"He knew exactly where she was," he informed me grimly, "but she wasn't part of this mission."

"They have to be curious though, about how she's progressing. It makes me nervous having them so close to her."

Edward kissed my forehead and tucked me in closer. "There's no need for concern. Nessie probably has more people looking out for her than any little girl in the world. And Alice will know if they start getting too interested in her."

Emmett and Rosalie had apparently opted against the basement, joining us again. "Damn, that is one big dude," Emmett said, shaking his head.

"Who cares?" Rosalie said, sliding her arms around him. "I like my men more petite."

"Yeah, I'll give you 'petite'," Emmett growled, leering.

"Are you all right?" Edward asked me.

"I guess. I just wasn't expecting that. At least Dimitri got my name right."

Edward smiled. "Aro will be pleased that we turned this problem over to him. It helps him think he's still in control."

"Will they take French back to stand some kind of bogus trial?"

"No." He shook his head, not meeting my eyes. "They have no intention of his surviving any longer than it takes to get him somewhere more secluded. Once Aro heard of French's reckless activities, the danger he posed in attracting the law on both sides of the Atlantic, his fate was sealed. Dimitri and Felix were just the ones sent to carry it out."

"I'm glad," I said softly. "I'm glad you didn't have to do it."

His expression darkened for a second, but he only nodded.

"The coast is clear," Alice sang out, as she reappeared, Renesmee at her side. A minute later, the room was filling up with Cullens again.

"You missed all the fun," Jasper taunted Emmett.

"Nah, I'm having plenty of fun right here," he said, running his hands over Rosalie's body in ways that barely observed propriety. She didn't seem to mind in the least.

"How was your snack?" I asked Renesmee.

"Sooooo delicious, Momma!"

"That's good . . . I guess." I turned to Edward for help. "This could get to be kind of a problem," I pointed out.

He didn't look concerned. "Renee's parenting magazines are bound to have some insightful tips."

Everyone seemed to be talking at once, so I pulled him around the corner. "We should be thinking about getting her back to the cottage. She's had an exciting day, and now that she's fed, she's going to be sleepy."

"I thought we could put her to bed here," he said, his tone too even, too calculated. "There are plenty of questions yet to be answered."

Only one question mattered to me. Why did it feel like he was putting me off?

"It's not just her. I need to go there too, to be alone with you." I pressed closer to him, trying to look directly into his eyes, but my gaze met only a sweep of long, thick lashes.

"I don't think that's a good idea," he said carefully.

For the first time since I'd stood in the clearing – so long ago, it seemed – fear coiled in my stomach. "What do you mean? You're mad at me, aren't you? I don't blame you. If you ever treated me that way, I'd die on the spot, but I thought you understood. I thought–"

"I am not mad at you, you silly girl," he said, finally meeting my eyes. His were pure gold, and absolutely sincere. "This crisis has been a kind of wakeup call . . . for me. I've always prided myself on learning from my mistakes, but I see now I haven't always succeeded."

"You don't make mistakes," I said fervently. "Not many anyway, and–"

He raised one long finger, almost touching my nose. "That's what I'm talking about," he said gently. "It's patently not true."

"But I feel like it is," I protested.

"Exactly. And the fact that you feel that way means more to me than you can ever imagine, but you taught me something – that it's only when your feelings are in line with what you know that you can let them guide your actions."

I'd taught him that? I had no idea what he was talking about, and all I could manage to care about was this sense that he was withholding himself from me.

"It's important that we discuss a few things, that's all."

"And once we've discussed them, you might not want me anymore?" My voice dissolved into a whisper.

His exasperated smile was brilliant, so wide it set off adorable little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. "Am I explaining things that badly? I will always want you. That's a given. I simply think we should attempt a rational conversation before I get . . . lost . . . in you again and can't think straight."

"You plan to get lost in me?" I am nothing if not quick to pick up on the good news.

"Absolutely," he whispered, crooked smile firing on all cylinders. "So lost, even Dimitri could never find me."

Three weeks of repressed desire nearly toppled me where I stood. I didn't much care if it did. I was beyond minding if the entire Cullen clan stood around and watched. I just really, really wanted him.

But I wasn't going to have him. Not now, not here. I fumbled around looking for my voice. "So that's why you don't want to go to the cottage?"

"Too tempting."

"Well, it's hard to talk here. I always feel like someone may overhear us."

"I think I know just the place," he assured me, tucking my hair behind my ear. "We'll go in the morning, but for now we owe all these innocent bystanders some explanation for what they've been through."

"You're right," I said, wondering if I should ask for a kiss, but he beat me to it, bending his head to capture my mouth, pressing me to him. I expected short and sweet but was only half right.

Edward just doesn't do things by halves.

Because it was safe, I realized. It could only go so far with his entire family a few yards away. Obviously, he didn't share my willingness to go for an X rating, but I was drunkenly happy with what I was getting.

The conversation of the others was just so much white noise, until a particularly loud voice cut through it all. "Hey, Nester, how about you go tell your parents we're not getting any younger here."

"It's okay, Uncle Emmett. You're not getting any older either."

"She's got you there." Jasper laughed appreciatively.

Our lips parted as we both broke into a smile.

"Besides," Renesmee went on in her musical little voice, "after the prince rescues the princess, they're supposed to kiss. It's a rule."

"Uncle Emmett needs to brush up on his literature," Jasper explained. "We kind of lost him after _The Three Little Pigs_."

"Those could be fighting words," Edward whispered. "We better join them." He kissed my hand and led me into the great room, where the sofa had been saved for us.

Renesme plunked herself down in the circle of our arms and looked up at me, glowing. "Just like the picture in my locket, Momma. It was for remembering, and now it's real again."

"And it will always, always be real," I whispered, nuzzling her ear. "The most real picture in the whole world."

"Are you aware," Esme ventured with a touch of mischief in her smile, "that you've been referring to your daughter as 'Nessie' these past few days?"

"It has been called to my attention," I said, as everyone else grinned. "And I hear you thought it was pretty funny." I tickled Renesmee's tummy till she squeaked with laughter. "Would you like me to call you that all the time?"

"Hmm." She considered the question carefully. There was that pucker again! "Not all the time," she decided at last. "My real name could be just for you and me. Daddy has a secret one too."

"He does?" I said, intrigued. "What is it?

"Look, Bella," Edward said, twiddling her golden locket in front of my face. "Something shiny!"

I narrowed my eyes at his guileless expression. Must be a good one. "Well, we all get to have some secrets, I guess."

"You know," Jasper said lazily. "I believe I overheard that particular term of endearment. I might be persuaded to divulge it – or not – to the highest bidder, of course."

"Do I need to point out I'm seriously into dismemberment lately?"

"Damn, Jazz." Emmett snorted, "You better find out which of your members he plans on dissing!"

"Ooh, that was a good one!" Rosalie crooned with a congratulatory nibble on his earlobe.

"Just offering to share," Jasper mumbled with a wicked slant of a smile.

"Isn't it about time you checked the weather?" Edward growled at him.

To my confusion, Jazz jumped up immediately. "You're right. Y'all don't have too much fun while I'm gone." And out he went.

"I honestly don't see how Esme's put up with the three of you so long!" I exclaimed, addressing the most perfect person I'd ever known.

"What can I say? She has an infinite capacity for love." His smile was downright smug.

"It's true, Bella. That's my cross to bear. Fortunately, there's one man in this household who doesn't think goading the others is a year-round sport." Esme patted Carlisle's knee, beaming up at him. "If only our sons took after their father."

Carlisle ruffled her hair. "Careful, my love. They might catch on that they're adopted."

"I'm not," Renesmee piped up. "Daddy says I look like Momma, and Momma says I look like Daddy."

"What do _you_ think?" Alice asked her.

"I think it's their way of telling me they think I'm pretty." She blushed, a very human reaction, that only made her look even more adorable.

I wanted her to know she was pretty, but I didn't want her to be vain. Parenthood with all its challenges loomed in front of me. I absolutely couldn't wait to tackle it again.

Renesmee sighed with contentment, snuggling back against the two of us and, in her usual amazing way, drifted almost immediately into sleep. Just as well, because some of the questions flying back and forth weren't exactly appropriate for children.

"So you really did change that dirtbag?" Emmett leaned forward, frowning. "Why'd you pick him?"

"I picked him to kill, not to change," Edward answered. "It didn't work out."

"I'll say." Rosalie's lovely face wore a familiar challenging expression. "Good thing you're sticking to animals these days. Otherwise we'd face an endless army of newborns – people who were 'almost' destroyed by Edward Cullen."

"Don't worry," Edward returned in his most irresistible velvet voice. "You'll always be number one on the list if I change my mind."

Rose's lips quirked and she relaxed against Emmett's shoulder. For a second there, I'd wanted to strangle her for hitting below the belt. Then it occurred to me that Edward was about as likely to accept guilt from his snarky sister as he was to have sex with Jessica Stanley.

Oops, there I was, thinking about sex again. So Emmett and Jasper had known I was the one pushing for more intimacy all along. How embarrassing was that? I was pretty sure Edward hadn't complained about me, so it must have been obvious to them that he was suffering.

Gah! And I had been so naïve – always assuming that because Edward was the one to stop it, he must not want to continue as much as I did.

_Silly human Bella_.

It wasn't just the last three weeks I had to make up for, but all the time before when I couldn't see past my own frustration to his.

I slipped two fingers between the buttons of his blue Oxford shirt just to feel his skin – smooth and tight over the rise of his chest . . . the teasing touch of a few russet hairs . . .

"Bella." Spoken quietly, but a reproach just the same. If I hadn't heard it in his tone, I couldn't miss it in his warning glance. "We're supposed to be celebrating your return to sanity," he whispered, "not sending me off in your place."

"Oh, sorry, but I need to touch you. It's been so long." I settled for putting my arm around his waist instead. "I want to make it up to you – the whole three weeks. Just remember that."

"It's unlikely to slip my mind. Trust me."

Jasper returned then. "We've got purple," he said cryptically to Edward as he passed on his way to gathering Alice back into his lap.

_Purple?_ It took a minute for me to decode that one. Purple – the color of the smoke that rose from a burning vampire. Edward had explained that the venom was responsible for its unusual color. I shivered. French was truly gone.

Edward misread my reaction. "It needed to be done," he said in my ear.

"I know. I'm pretty sure I could have done it myself. I'm just so glad it's over."

"So this dude's power," Emmett was saying, "turning stuff around – Bella finds out she got pregnant by somebody she hates, so she figures Edward must have ra– "

"I wouldn't use that word if I were you," Alice interrupted, almost too late.

"Well, I don't know how else to say it. Help me out here, Jazz."

"Uh . . . she figures Edward forced his unwanted attentions on her," Jasper offered.

"Yeah, what he said, so if everything's opposite, then that must mean Edward still hasn't scored with her at all!" He grinned at his own belabored joke. Instead of the laughter he hoped for, a barrage of comments burst out simultaneously.

"Your future as a stand-up comic is simply not happening, Em."

"Man, you do not need my help to look like a jackass."

"Bite me."

"Tasteless humor is seldom truly funny."

"His ability had nothing to do with facts. It worked solely on emotions. His victims found what memories they could to justify what they were feeling and blocked out all the others."

"Oh, sweetie, some people can tell 'em and some can't. Just go back to leaving the one-liners to the experts."

That was Alice, Jasper, Edward, Esme, Carlisle and Rose, respectively.

Thank goodness Renesmee was dozing away. The night went on like that with the mood swinging from lighthearted relief to serious discussion of how French had created such havoc and how Edward had figured out who was behind it.

Edward avoided questions about how he'd come to know French in the first place. "I'll explain more later," he promised. "I think Bella deserves to hear the whole story first."

Nobody argued with that, but there were plenty of disagreements about how this latest "extra ability" might have worked on other people in the family. Some of them were insulting and all of them pretty funny.

Renesmee scooched down to curl up across our laps, still sleeping, still oblivious to the chatter going on around her.

She opened her eyes only once, smiling at me drowsily, and I bent to kiss her forehead. "Sweetheart, we should put you in your bed, where it's not so noisy."

"No, I like it, Momma. It's happy noise – like music." And she promptly dropped off again.

She made a good point. I put my arm around her, snuggled closer to the man I love and gave myself up to the music.

**_A/N: Since people are asking, there will be one more chapter after this one and then, hopefully, an epilogue. ~ C.D._**


	34. Secret Passage

Chapter 34

Secret Passage

We left at first light.

By the time we stepped out from the trees, a few slender rays had pierced the forest, turning the dew into diamonds on the wildflowers, till they sparkled just like Edward. Like me.

Most of the spring flowers were still in bloom, and now the ones that only came in summer had joined them. Our meadow had never looked more beautiful. The sunny weather of the last few days made it easy to find a dry spot, and we sat down side-by-side, not touching, just as we had that very first time.

We'd said very little on the journey here. Edward, I knew, was deep in thought. Whatever it was he wanted to say, he took very seriously.

If I was a normal girl I should be worried about now. But I wasn't normal, and neither was he. What we had, what we were, was immutable. Nothing could harm it – not for long anyway.

We'd get through this discussion, no matter how painful, and come out the other side – together, but not knowing what it was about was fraying my nerves.

What could be so important that it would cause Edward to put off making our reunion complete?

I had only to look at him to feel calm again. So much like the first time we came here, when I was at last free to stare at him uninterrupted. The strange magnetism that had drawn me to him then was still in full force, but intensified by a thousand memories, powerful and precious beyond belief.

I hadn't understood then why this stranger who stirred up nothing but frustrating questions could make me feel as if he alone held all the answers I'd ever need.

In those first encounters, I shrank under his blazing hostility, and yet inside, it was as if something was opening up, the secret passage to an incredible life I could never have imagined.

He still hadn't spoken, sitting with his arms on his knees, his brow slightly furrowed as he appeared to study a yellow lupine bobbing at his feet.

I couldn't stand it anymore.

"This isn't going to be one of those conversations that start out 'it's not you, it's me,' by any chance?"

I'd expected him to smile, but he didn't. Instead, he regarded me for a moment, as if considering the question, and said slowly, "No, it is you."

_Oh_!

Well, that was only fair. When I'd imagined Edward turning on me the way I had on him, I'd felt physically sick, so convinced I'd have shriveled up on the spot, that I'd had to think quickly of something else.

It must have been gut wrenching for him, especially before he knew the cause. He deserved to vent about how my betrayal had made him feel, even if it wasn't real, and I would take it, gladly.

"I was thinking of the day you asked Jacob to kiss you."

_Wow_. I hadn't expected that.

We were going back before this crisis, back to other times I'd hurt and disappointed him. That was probably a good thing. He had always been so perfectly selfless, so forgiving of every stupid thing I did, but it had to be at the cost of suppressing his own very natural reactions.

He'd already released some of the rigid control he'd always held on himself, when we were married and when he changed me, but there was a lot more that could stand to be loosened up, if he was going to allow himself all the happiness he deserved.

"You're right," I said, "That was one of the stupidest, clumsiest things I've ever done in my life – with you right there where you could hear it. Part of me wanted you to yell and call me names. I so totally deserved it. If you want to do that now, feel free. I understand perfectly."

"I'm not mad at you, Bella," he said again. "It hurt. Of course, it did, but in a purely selfish way. In the long run, I gained so much more because you did it."

I hadn't expected that either. He really wasn't upset. Then why bring up one of the most hideously dunderheaded things I'd ever done?

"All along, you'd been ignoring your feelings for Jacob, pretending they didn't exist."

"Because they didn't matter. I always knew it was you I wanted."

"Bella, love is blind. Commitment shouldn't be. When you finally allowed yourself to examine those feelings, when you acknowledged that – if it wasn't for me – the two of you might have had a happy, normal life together–"

"That's a mighty big 'if.' Like if the moon was made of green cheese–"

Edward responded to my interruption with his own. "When you actually considered the alternative from all angles and were still certain of your choice, it meant so much more. It set my mind at ease."

"I'm glad," I said. "And that's what I haven't been able to do since my run-in with French. I couldn't make an honest judgment about anything, because I was missing so much vital information, but that's all over now.

"Everything's clear as crystal and you are the center of my universe, the way you've always been. From now on, if I shriek or call you names, it will only be because I'm in a really crappy mood, and not about you at all."

This time he did smile. "In other words, 'it's not you, it's me'?"

"Exactly." I smiled back.

He looked so beautiful, and I wanted so much to slide into his arms and show him that nothing had changed, that I would shower him with love in every way possible till the end of time, but he was still keeping his distance.

There was more.

"Bella, there's another issue that you've chosen to ignore all this time, something less subjective. In fact, I'd venture to say it's the one damnable sin every religion, every culture – save ours, of course – can agree upon."

_Uh-oh._ We were getting into heavy territory, a place where I'd spent a lot of time recently, and I really didn't want to go back. I just wanted to enjoy the here and now, to be with him again, safe and happy.

I made a last desperate attempt to derail the conversation, leery of the ominous direction it was taking. "You mean that thing about not wearing white after Labor Day? I can do that. The white jeans, the go-go boots, come September – gone, I promise."

"I meant the fact that I've killed a lot of people," he said, as if I hadn't spoken.

"I told you the first time, none of that matters to me."

"It doesn't matter, because it's just an abstract, easy to shove aside. You don't have all the information to make a judgment."

"Edward, I don't want to judge you, not on something you did another lifetime ago. I know who you are now, and that's all that counts."

"I told myself the same thing for a long time," he answered. "When I left that part of my life behind, I slammed a door on it and never looked back. I thought I was making a mature decision, refusing to let the past interfere with my efforts to be a better man, but the truth is I was afraid to look back."

My impulse was to contradict him, but I stopped myself.

He felt a need to tell me these things. How often had he ever let anyone see his needs? It was a rare opportunity he was holding out to me, and I prayed I wouldn't mess it up.

"Were you afraid," I said gently, "that if you thought about that life, you might be tempted to go back to it?"

"No, it wasn't that. No matter how I tried to live the way Carlisle had taught me, the way I actually wanted to be, I couldn't help feeling like a fraud. I could handle that, but if I actually went back and relived those memories, saw the faces of the people I'd killed, I didn't think I could continue. I'd hate myself too much to keep up the charade, passing myself off as a moral being when I was the biggest phony walking the earth."

"Sounds like you punished yourself enough for that, as it was. And if suppressing those memories allowed you to be a good person, then it must have been the right thing to do."

"You forget I'm an excellent liar, love, not least of all to myself. There was more to it. I was sure that if I ever told Carlisle the extent of what I'd done, he might pretend to accept it, but secretly he'd be as revolted as I was, and then – you . . . you came along."

"Oops," I said, trying to smile and failing.

But Edward's lips quirked up just a tiny bit at the memory.

_Joy!_

"I was back to basics," he continued. "Just trying to keep from killing someone, and that hadn't been a serious temptation in more than seventy years. I told you I killed people, and you acted like I'd confessed a weakness for jelly beans."

"Would you have been happier if I'd run away?"

"Happier? No. Relieved? Yes – part of me anyhow, the part that saw me losing you in any case. I could scare you away, or I could wind up killing you. The first, however painful, was preferable. But I've told you, I'm essentially a selfish creature. My heart leapt every time you failed to respond like a normal human being."

"Nothing normal about me," I said. "My heart leapt every time you said my name. It still does."

Edward refused to be distracted. "When I suspected an immortal was behind your condition, I had to turn to the one period in my history that I'd purposely tried to forget. I had to go back through my journals."

He'd explained this part to everyone last night – how he'd gone looking for a clue to some forgotten encounter with a vampire who might still carry a grudge. He hadn't found it until the very end, when he read the account of his dealings with French.

Even then, he'd said, he might not have made the connection if it hadn't have been for the coincidence of forged artworks taking center stage in both present life and the journals.

"I'm sorry you had to put yourself through that," I said. "Like you weren't troubled enough by me carrying on like a psycho, and then you're forced to relive all your most hated memories. I know, I didn't do it on purpose, but I feel terrible all the same."

"Don't. It was something I should have done a long time ago, and the circumstances were probably ideal. The truth is none of it seemed that important when I knew you were suffering."

The urge to reach out to him was almost overwhelming.

It might be what I wanted, but it wasn't what he needed right now. "The things you did back then – did they turn out to be not as bad as you thought?"

"No," he said, fastening me with a direct look. "They were every bit as bad as I thought. There was a period when I was not much different than those newborns you saw last summer."

"Okay, number one – I don't believe you."

He grimaced and closed his eyes. "This is the central problem with being a liar. No one believes you when you're telling the truth."

"Oh, I believe you think they were bad. I'm just not sure everyone else would. You have a habit of being especially hard on yourself."

"Fine," he said, exasperated. "I'll give you one of the journals to share with Charlie. We'll see if he agrees that the wholesale slaughter of humans really wasn't any big deal."

"That's just stupid. Charlie would have a heart attack if he knew we could jump across the river, much less anything about killing people. I mean somebody who knows who you really are, like a member of the family, like me. You said Carlisle had read a lot of it, and he was nothing but overjoyed to have you back last night."

"Carlisle isn't in love with me."

"Then it should be even easier for me to forgive you, whatever awful things you've done."

"That's exactly my point. Love blinds you. You think with your heart, not with your brain, and believe me I've been grateful for that fact since the first moment I realized you were attracted to me, but again, I'm selfish like that." He paused, looking puzzled. "Wait a minute. What was number two?"

"Number two?"

"Yes, when I said what I'd done was bad, you said 'Number one, I don't believe you'."

"Oh, right. You won't like number two."

"Let me guess. You don't care."

"Got it in one."

"Again, Bella, you're only proving my point. It's been easy for you not to care. It was nothing but words to you, not real people, and I kept it that way. But it's been in the back of my head all this time, wondering what you would do if you were actually confronted with the truth, how many of those murders you'd have to hear about before all the light in your eyes died away, and you left."

"You were really afraid of that?" I whispered.

"You considered both the facts and your true feelings before making up your mind about where Jacob fit into your life. I've never let you have that same chance. I need you to take it now."

"You want to tell me about your past?"

"No," he said with a wry twist of his perfect lips, "I don't want to, but I have to. Otherwise, I'm no better than French, depriving you of the information it takes to form a valid opinion."

"Edward, my 'opinion' is never going to change. I love you with my head just as much as my heart."

"You love me more than I deserve. I've always known that. I can't keep preventing you from realizing it too."

He looked so earnest, so certain he hadn't been fair to me that I couldn't object.

And why would I?

I'd always wondered if getting those things out in the open wouldn't relieve some of the terrible guilt he'd borne all these years.

I looked down at Elizabeth Masen's ring, my ring, sparkling in the sunshine. This was the place he'd slipped it on my finger to stay, and now our meadow was about to witness another kind of giving – the secrets, the dark ones that he held so close.

I prayed silently that the final gift would be his, that he'd come away with a little bit of peace and closure in place of the pain.

But for now, he looked anything but peaceful. I could see the anxiety swimming in his topaz eyes. I had to let him do this his way – at his own pace.

For a long time he sat with his head bowed, wrapping the stalk of a purple blossom slowly around his finger. I was content just to watch the sunlight paint autumn colors in his wayward hair.

"This may have been a mistake," he said quietly.

My heart sank, but I had to stop arguing with everything he said. "Why do you say that?"

"This place has always seemed so peaceful – untouched almost. I hate to spoil that with a lot of disturbing images. I should have taken you somewhere else."

Time for a confession of my own. "When you were gone," I said, "and I ran into Laurent? It was actually right here."

"You never told me that." His eyes flashed to mine, instantly darkening.

"I came here hoping to see you . . . an echo of you anyway, and nothing was the same. Everything was dead and dried up and bleak, like our meadow had never existed. Only it wasn't true. Last year, when we spent so much time here, it was just as glorious as ever.

"I guess my point is, this is a powerful place, full of promise, even when it seems like everything's lost. It can take whatever happens here and still come back to life."

He nodded slowly. "All right. I'm not sure where to start."

"Why not at the beginning, before you decided to go off on your own?"

He did, telling me how Carlisle had stuck close beside him all the way through that first year, encouraging him, discouraging him when he needed it.

"I was grateful, of course, that he'd saved me, and I had great respect for him from the very start. When the thirst was at its worst, I'd remind myself how lucky I was to have had not just one father, but two who were strong, admirable men.

"After the newborn turmoil died down, I adopted Carlisle's way of life, feeding on animals in the forest where we lived. I studied, played the piano. I didn't go out much, still uncomfortable around humans. Carlisle had some idea of getting me a job at the hospital, so I could get used to people and practice a few social skills that had been all but ignored for over a year.

"But then Esme came along, and he was distracted. She needed his care and attention just as I had my first year, and it was obvious that they were in love. Being a third wheel is even less fun than being a fifth or a seventh, especially when you're right on the verge of manhood and have found out you can't pursue your natural instincts without killing someone."

"How did you cope with that?" I asked earnestly. I knew better than anyone what a sexual being Edward naturally was. He must have been miserable.

"I didn't. I went into full rebellion. It wasn't really their fault. Carlisle was my idol, and Esme was the gentlest person I'd ever known. They tried their best to include me, but you know what that bubble is like."

"Mmm," I said, smiling at him. "I definitely do."

"The main problem was simply that I was just short of 18, the point when boys in my world became men, and here I was restricted on all sides. I was convinced I knew better than the older people around me. I should be out making my way in the world.

"Carlisle was afraid that if I left, I'd be unable to retain the control he'd fostered in me, and, of course, he was dead right. We fought – a lot."

"Physically?" I asked. It was impossible for me to picture even a heated argument between the two of them. Carlisle was adept at being a father figure when it was called for, and the rest of the time he treated Edward like a respected peer.

"No, but there was a lot of snarling, growling, hissing – typical vampire jackass behavior. That was me, of course. Carlisle remained cool and reasonable no matter what."

"That must have really ticked you off," I said.

He shot me a quick smile. "Absolutely. It made me feel like exactly what I was – a hotheaded know-it-all, so I left."

I listened with rapt attention, as he described the world that waited outside the Cullens' door, the months he'd stayed in rural areas and his arrival in New York.

"So you spent practically all that time in New York City?"

"Three and a half years," he confirmed.

No wonder he'd reacted strangely when I'd asked him if he liked it there. It was the site of all his worst memories, but also, I discovered as he went on to describe the excitement he'd felt as a newcomer, some nice ones as well.

He did such a good job of painting the time and the place that it was a while before I realized he hadn't mentioned one single killing, and he had to have been in the city for months by this point in the story. When I pointed that out, he exhaled sharply.

"I do that," he admitted. "Avoid getting to the unpleasant part even when it's the whole point. Forgive me."

"It's okay. I love hearing all this. I love that there were things that made you happy. So who was the first person you killed there?"

That startled him out of his chagrin. "Uh . . . I'm not sure. I'll have to think about it."

"Take your time. I know you can come up with it. It's not a fuzzy human memory."

"No, it isn't," he admitted.

I guessed that it was less the memory he was struggling with than the will to cross the final line and actually tell me how he had chosen and killed a human being.

This was where he feared he'd start losing me. The thought made my heart ache for him. All I could do was try to lighten the atmosphere.

"In case you've ever wondered – kissing Jacob? That's a really fuzzy memory. It's pretty much all fuzz, but then so is Jake a lot of the time."

He quirked a smile at me, then drew in his breath and started. "I picked up a heavyset man leaving the Roseland Ballroom on 51rst St. By that I mean, I was sifting through the voices around me, searching for someone who was up to no good.

"He was fuming about a girl who'd rejected his advances, a hostess there. Men paid ten cents to dance with them, but he had suggested something more, and she had politely turned him down.

"I'd been reading minds ever since the change, but I'd never been exposed to so many, and I was still shocked by the perversity I found there.

"As I say, the girl had been polite in her refusal, but he was livid, as if his dime had purchased her outright. He followed her to her apartment, and I followed him, still finding it hard to believe that he considered what he was planning to be justified. I doubted he'd really go through with it.

"We both watched her enter the building. He waited a moment before following; I made for the fire escape, listening for her progress and stationing myself outside the window of her single room. She had just turned on the lights when he knocked at the door, and to my relief she didn't answer it, backing away quietly.

"That should have been the end of it, but I had scarcely grasped his intentions, when he broke in the door and came after her. I flew through the window, forcing him back out into the hall without her ever getting a good look at me, dragged him into a stairwell and sank my teeth into his throat. He died. I fed. That's it."

Edward looked at me for the first time in this dissertation. His jaw was set, his eyes almost daring me to respond.

"Were you scared – about getting caught, I mean?"

"No. When you're as fast as we are, there's seldom a reason for that. My main concern was disguising the wounds, so they didn't appear too different from an assault by a human.

"It's funny that should be so important when you've left a body completely drained of blood, but apparently the authorities can't handle the implications. It's easier to assume the killing took place elsewhere."

"Sort of like me thinking of reasons to hate you because you scared me so badly."

"Pretty much," he said with a slight smile. It faded, as he went on, his voice more subdued. "There was fear, but it came much later when my control began to slip, and it was me I was afraid of, if that makes any sense."

"It makes perfect sense," I assured him. "Maybe a month ago I wouldn't have understood it, but these last weeks that was the scariest thing for me – feeling like I wasn't in charge of my own life."

"Of course, you know." For the first time since we'd been sitting here, Edward reached over and took my hand, his eyes filled with sympathy.

But this wasn't supposed to be about my pain.

I hurried to put the focus back on his story. "What about afterwards – did you feel guilty?"

He released my hand and went back to prodding the flowers at his feet. "No. I read that man's thoughts. Either the girl would die or he would."

"And if he killed her, he might go on to kill other women," I reasoned, "so it was one death against who knows how many."

"Bella, you don't have to find excuses for every murder I committed. You'll run out of them soon enough."

"I'm just trying to understand what it was like for you. Did it seem worth it? Was the taste of human blood so much better?"

I thought he flinched a little, but it seemed vitally important to me. This was the great temptation, the prize that rendered all morality expendable to most immortals.

"I wish I could say otherwise, but yes, it was a transcendent experience. I'd never been that close to . . . ecstasy before. It's at once satisfying and exhilarating. You're never so aware of your own invincibility, so of course, I was immediately convinced I'd done the right thing in turning my back on Carlisle. I couldn't wait to do it again."

The look he gave me could only be seen as challenging. Did he think I was going to ask him to stop? That my feelings were already shrinking?

I couldn't bear letting him suspect that for one more second. "So is that what you did – find another victim right away?"

The challenge met, he dropped his gaze again. "No. Carlisle's training was too entrenched. I held to his two-week schedule. It allowed me the illusion that I wasn't really an addict, for want of a better word."

I did the math in my head. Twice a month, and not even four years. "Edward, that's less than a hundred people. I know it's not right to keep score, but for a vampire that doesn't sound so over the top to me."

"You're rationalizing," he accused.

I shrugged. "It's what rational people do."

"And you're wrong. That's how I started out, but it was just another one of Carlisle's rules that I rejected. It gets worse."

"Okay, please, keep going."

The sun climbed higher in the sky, as I sat rapt, soaking in every word. Sometimes I interrupted, when I sensed he had left something out or when I needed more details to really see the pictures in my head.

"Bella, you don't want that image," he said once, when I asked him to describe a particularly grizzly killing.

"I really do. I want to see things just the way you did."

I could tell that, to him, it was like a long ghastly parade of his sins. I was focusing not so much on the victims, but on Edward, trying to understand how each of the killings might have affected him.

Some of the incidents shocked me, and I didn't try to hide that. Others made me so fearful, it seemed like the peril was still with us in this sun-drenched meadow. What I didn't feel was any antipathy toward Edward. He had been doing what he was designed to do and doing it with a lot more responsibility than others of our kind.

He sensed I wasn't reacting with the repugnance he thought this story deserved. I could see it in the slight relaxation of his muscles, the way his furtive glimpses at my face, checking for signs of disgust, became less frequent.

Apparently, this convinced him that I couldn't be listening properly, because he said, out of nowhere, "Don't kid yourself that I was some kind of vigilante out to clean up the streets of New York. That wasn't my motivation at all." He leaned toward me. "I only wanted to feed," he said, literally biting his lip to emphasize the word "feed."

"I believe you," I answered.

That was the goal of every vampire, but how could he fail to notice that for most the ends justified the means. He used the means to justify the ends, and the world was probably better for it.

As he got into the later period of his exile, the story became harder to bear. I could feel his aloneness so acutely, the self-hatred that accompanied his loss of control as he let the bloodlust take him, and the desperate need for oblivion, the only option he had to ease the pain.

I could feel what it did to his soul, the soul he didn't believe he possessed.

It was my pain now too, twisting through me till I thought I couldn't breathe. How did anyone ever find the strength to escape such a vicious cycle?

I longed to take him in my arms and hold him to my breast, kissing his tousled hair, telling him over and over again how much he was loved, but instinct told me that he needed to complete this journey.

I tried really hard not to let what I was feeling reflect in my face, but he must have seen it, because that look became more frequent again – the look that said he was wondering if I'd reached my limit at last.

Suddenly, his narrative stopped. "I'm doing it again," he hissed under his breath.

"Doing what?"

"Hurting you. Another bright idea, like lying to you and leaving you alone in the forest. I convince myself I'm right, and you end up paying the price."

"It's not like that."

"Stop it, Bella!"

The look he turned on me, eyes burning under a slant of angry brows, must be close to the one his victims saw at the very last, the one French had never wanted to see again. It pinned me with the sheer dark power of his rage.

But only for a moment.

I wasn't intimidated. I knew who his fury was meant for.

"I can see the horror in your eyes," he continued. "The repugnance, the sorrow, the guilt. What the hell kind of man forces those images on the woman he loves? Someone so . . . good . . . the last person in the world who deserves to have that kind of garbage cluttering up her mind."

"Now, you're doing it," I said, letting my own anger show. "Right now, you're actually doing what you accuse yourself of – not when you were sharing the truth with me."

I'd lost him, but in his effort to understand, the fury dropped away too. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," I said, wishing my mind worked as quickly as his, hoping I could find the words to explain what was so important, "you're assuming you know what's best for me. You're taking away my choices, because you've decided how things are, and that's not fair. I have my own opinions, you know, and you're not even bothering to ask what they are."

He squeezed his eyes shut. "Bella, I can't have you always making sacrifices – for me. That's the last thing I want."

"That's where you're wrong. I'm not doing you some favor by listening to all this. It's like a gift to me, and no, just don't say it!" I held up my hand to stop whatever sarcastic remark was about to come out of his mouth. "It's my turn to talk.

"You're right. I am feeling all of those things you described – horror and sadness and guilt – but it's not for the reason you think. I feel them, because you felt them. You're letting me see what the very worst part of your life was like, and I want that. I _need_ that, because I want us to be part of each other in every way possible. That means sharing the bad things too.

"I'm not saying you were right to do what you did back then. How can anybody know? But, honestly, it seems to me you did the very best you could, given what had happened to you. You managed to hold onto the deepest of your beliefs and come out of it a better person. Right now, I'm finding it impossible to imagine how you did that. I need to hear the rest of the story."

He was looking at me, as he sometimes does even now, as if seeing me for the first time. I nodded my encouragement.

He blinked and began again, anxious I thought, to get through it, talking faster, filling his narrative with more and more detail, all of it sordid, all of it presented as a result of his own weakness, practically daring me not to turn away repulsed.

"I killed four men who were intending to join in on a rape. I have no way of knowing if they would have actually gone through with it. I only took the fifth man, the instigator, in the act. The rest I just slaughtered for good measure."

"Like Royce," I said. My voice was a little shaky.

"Royce?"

"Rosalie's fiancé. He started it all. That woman could have ended up like Rose."

"She was a prostitute," he said, watching my face.

"Is that supposed to make a difference? She was a person with the right to make her own decisions."

He didn't answer, but after a moment he tried again. "I killed a man in cold blood. He wasn't even thinking of harming a human."

"Why?"

Edward shrugged. "He was doing something I didn't like."

"Like what? Like wearing white after Labor Day?"

A little laugh escaped him, hardly more than an exhale of breath, but it made my heart soar. We were in the darkest part of the tunnel, but we were together. I just had to bear with him till he could see the light.

"He was beating an injured animal, a horse," he said finally.

"But that's inhuman. It's all the same kind of evil – cowards who pick on anything weaker than they are. The gene pool is better off without them. I'm sure I would have done the same thing."

I hadn't read _Black Beauty_ at an impressionable age for nothing.

"I don't see how you ever escaped the spiral you were in," I went on, searching his face for the answer.

He shook his head. "I was down as far as I could go. Perhaps, as the saying goes, there was no place left but up."

As far as _you_ could go, I thought, perplexed, as usual, by his inability to see how amazing he was. Any other immortal would have plunged a lot further, I was sure, resorting to random kills, no matter how weak or innocent his victims.

"But there must have been some point when you knew it had to stop."

He nodded. "There was. I knew it had to stop. I just doubted I had the strength to do it."

He continued on with his story, how he'd very nearly killed an innocent person, how he'd forced himself to leave his lair and clean up, the painful process of being around humans again and struggling to find the remnants of morality buried in himself.

When he got to the part about hearing the odd piano music, I could feel the burden lightening a bit from his shoulders and therefore from mine. Last night in the barrage of questions, he'd said only that he'd known French as an art swindler, that he'd come upon him as he killed an old man and inadvertently left him to endure the change when he'd responded to the screams of the man's daughter.

Suddenly, there was a whole story around the incident, and it wasn't all filled with blood and gore, not at the beginning anyway.

Edward had a friend.

I felt such a surge of gratitude for that long-ago girl – for Evelyn – for how she'd responded to his humanity and reflected it back to him in a way he could accept.

My eyes stung with phantom tears. Why couldn't he see that for someone in need, there was no one, anywhere who was more trustworthy, more unselfish, more willing to do whatever it took to give them what they needed?

He mistook my sentiment for something else entirely, leaning toward me, his nostrils slightly flared with emotion. "I can stop here, Bella. It's almost the end anyway."

"Don't you dare! Not when things are finally looking up."

He resumed, going slower now, so I'd know exactly how Rupert French had come to feature in our story, and on to the night when he'd said goodbye to New York with that last glimpse of the gleaming new skyscraper.

"Will you take me there someday?" I asked. "To the top of the Empire State Building, so I can see the city the way you did."

"I imagine the view has changed considerably since then, but I'd love to see it with you. Of course, you do realize we'd have to settle for a more conservative route to the top than I was used to taking."

"I don't see why," I said, attempting to look affronted. "Are you implying I'm still too klutzy for anything but an elevator?"

"Nooo, but once the building was occupied, slipping up there undetected got a lot harder. They even made a kind of public service film to discourage the practice."

I pursed my lips, studying him. A glint of humor had unmistakably returned to his eyes. "Are you by any chance talking about _King Kong_?"

"Way before your time. I'm surprised you've heard of it."

"Well, it so happens, we spider monkeys are proud of our roots, so of course I've heard of it. But you must have felt strange, after so much time, being out in the country again."

"I did," he said thoughtfully. "Something else to break the pattern."

He told me about his trip north and that first return to animal blood. "So that's how you developed a taste for mountain lion!"

"It's still my favorite."

"Can you remember what your favorite food was when you were human?"

Totally off topic, but it seemed like the kind of thing married people usually knew about each other. Never mind that I wasn't going to be rustling it up in our non-existent kitchen.

Edward took my question in stride. After a moment's thought, he answered, "My mother's roast beef, complete with Yorkshire pudding from an old family recipe." Suddenly he chuckled. "I'd completely forgotten. I always asked for the rarest piece. My parents thought it was bad for the digestion."

"Let me guess. It never upset you in the least."

He grinned. "I'm surprised I remember that after all this time."

"Maybe all the negative memories stood in the way."

"No. Sometimes moments will come back when you least expect it. You'll find that out. I don't think the human memories ever actually go away. They're just hard to see. It's almost like you're reading about them, rather than remembering."

I liked knowing that some of the human memories I cherished most might return when I least expected it. "So your family didn't have a cook?"

"My mother refused. She said she enjoyed making meals for us." He smiled at me. "Just like you enjoyed cooking for Charlie."

"And for Renee before that," I added, glancing down at my ring. "Your mom and I have something in common – besides being partial to you, I mean."

"She would have loved you," Edward said softly, taking my hand.

"And I owe her a lot," I responded, squeezing his fingers. "But I interrupted. You were telling me about finding Carlisle and Esme again."

He resumed the story. When he described the reception they gave him, I could picture it so perfectly. Carlisle and Esme exactly as I knew them now, only more than half a century in the past.

Weird.

"They really wanted you back," I said. "They missed you."

"Yes," he acknowledged, as if he still found it hard to believe. "They never made me feel otherwise."

"What about the piano? Did you try it right away?"

"No, not at all. I couldn't help feeling that all the ugliness I hadn't talked about would come out if I sat down to play. They didn't push it, and one day, after I'd been with them several weeks, they went out. I sneaked up on it and touched the keys like I thought they would bite."

"And?"

"They didn't, so I ran a few scales, tried a little Chopin."

"But nothing horrible happened?"

"Nothing four years without practicing couldn't explain." He smiled. "After that, they probably got sick and tired of hearing me day and night."

"I'll bet they never said so. Those two were meant to be parents. I'm so glad they found a way to make it happen."

"There can be too much of a good thing, you know," Edward said wryly.

"What do you mean?"

"It wasn't long before they decided my life couldn't possibly be complete without a sister."

_Uh-oh. _Here came Rosalie to disturb the peace of chez Cullen. "Even good parents make mistakes," I teased. "How did that work out for you?"

"Oh, I got the perfect sister. I just had to endure Rose for a few years till she came along."

"So it was like that from the very beginning?"

"From before the beginning. I had no use for her when she was still human," he admitted. "Rose judged everything in terms of whether it would make a good accessory – for her, for her beauty and prestige. Utterly shallow."

"She's been pretty nice to me through all this," I pointed out, "and she's great with Nessie."

"She's mellowed quite a bit over the years," he conceded.

He seemed much more relaxed now that his story was told. Up till now, he'd directed most of his narrative out across the meadow, turning only to make a point or check on my reaction. Finally, he angled his body toward me, leaning on one elbow.

"I find it hard to believe," I said, happy to look into his face again, "that if by some miracle she got the chance to turn human, she'd really choose it over Emmett and the rest of the family."

"I don't think she would," Edward agreed, "but Rosalie's never been one for self-analysis. She needs to let go of the past."

"Hmm, that sounds like really good advice."

He squinted up at me, the sunshine full on his face. "It's my past, Bella. I can deal with it. I only wish I was more certain that you can."

"I told you, I can handle it. Maybe _that's_ the central problem with being an accomplished liar. You suspect everyone else is lying too."

He shook his head, tiny rainbow shards flashing briefly from his skin as he moved. "Not lying – trying to spare me."

"You trusted me with your darkest secrets. How can I not feel grateful for that? Grateful and closer to you. That's all I ever want – to be closer to you in every way.

"I guess you can spend a few thousand years trying to catch me flinching when you touch me, all hung up on something nasty your hands did ages ago. Otherwise, I don't know how to make you believe me."

But I did!

Suddenly, I knew exactly how. Could I manage it after all this time? "Come here," I said softly. Automatically, he leaned toward me, as I took his face in my hands. "Close your eyes. I want to try something."

He caught my intention immediately, "Bella, no. It takes too much out of you. I thought we agreed you'd save it for emergencies."

"My special power, my definition of emergency," I said stubbornly. "Touch me and concentrate."

Reluctantly, he brought his hands up to my cheeks. We both closed our eyes.

I fumbled in my mind for that elusive extra sense, finding it at last, willing it to move at my command. There was a faint pulsing but no real movement. It had been too long since I practiced with Zafrina, since I'd given it my all in defense of our family.

I concentrated more fiercely. If that slime ball French could summon the ability to screw with me and mine, I could damn well make my own power work in a really good cause.

My shield began to vibrate more noticeably, and suddenly it swooped out encompassing Edward, as if it realized that my self-preservation was meaningless unless he was protected too.

He gasped, and I opened my mind, letting him see how I didn't for a minute dismiss his past as unimportant, how I understood the pain and conflict it caused him and how I truly believed the will-power required to overcome it had made him the man I loved today – unconditionally, no matter what.

I held it as long as I could, until suddenly Edward's lips were on mine, and that was all she wrote. I kissed him back, thrilling to the way he crushed me to him, as if he'd been dying for this all along.

And my shield snapped back into place.

"Damn," he growled, breaking the kiss. "There must be some way you can keep it up while I make love to you."

"That's what she said!" I was suddenly convulsed with a fit of the giggles.

Instantly, I was lying in the soft grass, Edward on top of me, his grin only inches away.

"Sexual innuendo, Bella?" He kissed my temple. "From the sweetest . . ." He kissed my other temple. "Most compassionate . . ." He kissed the tip of my nose. "Most forgiving soul in the entire world? Your efforts to seduce me are becoming increasingly transparent."

"Gosh, you think?" I was still laughing. "I haven't had to work this hard since Isle Esmee!"

"Well, you can stop now."

"What . . .why?"

"Because I'm taking over from here."

"You are?" I gulped, giggles forgotten.

"I am. You've made it clear what you want, and I've made it clear I like nothing better than giving you what you want – always." He bent and kissed my neck in the exact same place he'd kissed me at prom. Gah!

"Please – if I leave anything out, feel free to remind me," he murmured into my ear.

"O . . . okay," I breathed.

"You'll allow me to do this part?" His low voice was teasing, as he slowly began to unbutton my shirt.

_Allow him?_ Like I could get my fingers to do anything except touch him.

His movements were hypnotic, slow and sure. With every new inch of flesh revealed, his fingertips grazed softly, as if he were memorizing my contours, followed by the brief press of his lips. The more of me he exposed to the warm sunlight, the more I shivered with wanting him.

Once, I opened my eyes, heavy-lidded with desire, to watch him tracing his fingers over my torso, and sure enough – he wasn't even actually touching me. There was the smallest space between his skin and mine, and yet whatever force field seemed to vibrate between us sparked every nerve in my body.

He seemed lost in concentration, in the deep pleasure of performing this strange ritual – mapping my body, laying claim to a territory that I very much wanted to be his again. I felt defined and worshipped and so sensitized to his every movement that it really was as if he'd taken over my body.

I already trusted him with my soul.

I closed my eyes again, shutting out the beautiful meadow, the wider world, everything but Edward.

Yes, I was sure of it. He was coaxing my soul, so lost among the foreign feelings of the last weeks, back into place, tucking it into every corner of my body, making me whole again.

Then he _was_ touching me and sometime later sending his mouth on the journey he'd lately charted. I lost all ability to differentiate anything. There was only Edward and the swelling heat encompassing us both.

I don't even remember exactly when he removed his own clothes, but he did it slowly enough that I could watch. The meadow became a drab background to his perfect body, revealed gradually in full sunshine, every beloved line of it more beautiful than the prisms of light flickering from his skin.

It wasn't till he pulled me to him that he kissed my lips, a kiss that began tenderly, intensifying into such a vivid suggestion of what was to follow that I nearly shattered on the spot.

Losing each other, if only temporarily, brought an edge of desperation to our lovemaking that came and went throughout the afternoon, as if we each needed reassurance of the other's reality. There were long blissful periods of taking our time too, watching and savoring and whispering with nothing and no one to interfere.

By the time I was capable of noticing anything but Edward, the sun had toppled down to nestle in the trees.

"It's very frustrating," he murmured, stroking my hair.

"What is?" I was enjoying a medley of sensations, but "frustration" wasn't one of them.

"Not having the words to tell you what I feel. They're all clichés."

I slid one finger over the curve of his luscious lower lip. "Mr. Berty said clichés are almost by definition the best way to say something. That was right before he promised to lower our grades if we used them."

"You were paying attention in English," he teased.

"Oh, I was paying a lot of attention in English," I said, stretching languidly against him. "Sometimes I even noticed the teacher."

"Well, congratulations on retrieving a human memory."

"Oh, great! I hope I can do better than that. There are a lot more important things I never want to forget."

"Mmm. I don't see Mr. Berty in the vicinity, so prepare for the worst." He skimmed his nose over my cheek. "I love you, Bella."

"I love you, too," I whispered.

He was right. Such tiny, familiar words to carry a world of meaning. It would have to do, and I could see in the melting gold of his eyes that it had.

Edward insisted on putting my clothes back on me, since it was his idea to take them off in the first place (or so he thought).

"What is it with you Cullens and dressing people?" I said, pretending an annoyance I didn't feel at all. In fact, he made the whole process seem so unbearably erotic that I nearly pulled him down again.

But the sunlight was dimming in the meadow. We turned, as we walked toward the trees, for a last look back at what would always seem a magical place to me.

"Looks like we killed a lot of flowers today," I said guiltily. The grass was flattened in an irregular pattern. Shreds of broken blossoms littered the space like confetti.

"It will revive," Edward reminded me, hooking an elbow around my neck to pull me in for one last kiss. "We'll come back soon, so you can see for yourself."

"What a good idea!"

"Now," he said, meshing my fingers with his, "we need to spend some quality time with our daughter, and then it's back to the cottage."

"I can't wait to see it again." Suddenly, an awful possibility occurred to me. "Edward, when I wasn't there and Alice was coming down to see you, she didn't by any chance get her hands on our bedroom, did she?"

"She did ask me one day why it was locked." He frowned as if he hadn't paid attention to her question at the time.

"She's a vampire! A lock wouldn't stop her. I don't think a nuclear blast could stop her when she's on a decorating high."

"Calm yourself, love," he said in a tone so soothing that even Carlisle might have envied it. "Everyone was walking on eggshells around me. It was extremely irritating, but they were all afraid of doing anything that might set me off."

"Well, that's a relief. Has the rest of the headboard collapsed yet?"

"Bella," he said evenly, "just what do you think I've been doing in your absence? If you recall, I never even owned a bed until you came along."

"Oh, good point, because I'm pretty sure we have exclusive rights to destroying our own bedroom."

"We might consider exercising those rights fairly soon," he suggested, his expression deadpan. "Before Alice pays Jay Jenks to find a loophole."

"She wouldn't even have to pay him. All she needs to do is show up with Jasper, and Jay will probably forge a loophole in his own blood."

Dusk was gathering in the woods now, but I could see our path as clearly as if it was noon. "I really miss our room. I even miss our smutty picture of the girl on the swing."

"Talking dirty again," he sighed in mock despair. "I may need to give you lessons in proper communication."

"I thought you already were." I smiled up at him. "How am I doing so far?"

"Top of the class. Remember, I'm from a more genteel time. We chose our words carefully in those days."

"Sorry. I forget sometimes how ancient you actually are."

"You can imagine our excitement when the wheel was invented."

"I actually like that about you – that you're old school. It makes me feel – I don't know – safe."

Edward snorted. "If there's one thing a person with your luck should never feel, Bella, it's 'safe'."

"Oh, come on. What else can possibly happen to me?"

"Who knows? When you're in the next room, I worry that aliens may have veered light years off course just to get to you."

"Very funny. I trust you've at least gotten over your urge to lock me up and pocket the key."

A fox barked somewhere in the forest. A couple of crows were having an argument, and a pinecone tumbled quietly to rest on the trail ahead of us. Edward, on the other hand, hadn't made a sound.

"Edward! You only said that because you were angry at the time, right?"

"You want me to be honest with you, don't you?"

"Of course, I do, but you can't possibly really think that way!"

"I told you I wouldn't do it," he reminded me, ever reasonable. "You can't expect me not to enjoy the idea."

"But it's wrong," I spluttered. "And I can't believe you're really serious. You've always been respectful to women."

"Victoria might disagree with you."

"She doesn't count."

"Rose would disagree louder."

"Now you're just giving me a hard time. That kind of thinking is not old-fashioned. It's downright medieval! Can't you have regular fantasies, like me dressed as a French maid or something?"

"Mmm, no. In my fantasies you're seldom dressed at all."

I let go of his hand and stepped in front of him, aching to kiss that smirk right off his face.

"We're not taking another step until this is settled," I insisted. "You're fond of compromising. How about this? You can daydream about locking me up – I'll go you one better – you can actually _do_ it, providing you're locked up in there with me."

"Your powers of negotiation are truly remarkable," he said, the smirk becoming a pout as he tried not to smile.

I leapt into his arms and wrapped my legs around his waist. "Good. Now that we're on the same page, I have another proposal. IMO – that's 'in my opinion' for you wordy old-timers – we should start finishing off the headboard tonight – as soon as Nessie's asleep."

"I am so there," he said, through a crooked grin, and then he captured my mouth again, and we took a short break to practice our communication skills before heading home through the twilight.

The End

_**A/N: I'm out of town next week, so an epilogue may have to wait. If you're not signed up for alerts, I'd suggest checking in some Thursday morning. ~ CD**_


	35. Epilogue

A/N: _First of all, if anyone's still around, thanks so much for your patience. I just wanted to take a few quick peeks to make sure things are back to normal in Forks. _

Epilogue

"This is goodbye then," he murmured against my lips.

"I'm afraid so."

Still I couldn't find the strength to let him go, pushing in for one last intoxicating taste of Edward's mouth.

Drawing away too soon, he added, "Unless you want us to wait for you."

"Yes, Momma." Nessie, who'd been swaying patiently at my side, chimed in. "Daddy can teach you how to play piano too."

I laughed, bending to give her a hug. "It's going to take your father years to get over the frustration I've already caused him. Trying to turn me into a musician could be the last straw. Besides, I just have a few quick things to take care of, and I'll join you."

"Do pianos have straws?"

I kissed her puzzled frown. "Daddy will explain it to you, only . . . oh wait, someone's coming!"

I looked to Edward, my own heightened senses only telling me there was someone in the woods, not who that someone might be.

"Alice," he supplied effortlessly. "She can keep an eye on your mother while we're gone."

Nessie nodded her approval. "You'll have fun, Momma. Aunt Alice is a really good babysitter. She has soooo many ideas!"

"I've noticed that."

"What do you say we try to sneak past her?" Edward challenged, sweeping our little miracle up in his arms.

"Oooh, yes, Daddy!" her face glowed in anticipation of a new game. "Up in the treetops like birds or monkeys – please!"

And before I could kiss either one of them again they were gone. I shut the door and waited for my visitor to materialize, counting a few beats after her knock before swinging it open again.

"Hey, Alice. You're just in time to keep me company."

"Good. I was kind of hoping you'd be alone."

"Edward and Nessie are headed to your house for a piano lesson."

"Hmm," she said, following me to the comfy sofa that dominated our little parlor. "I thought I detected some covert maneuvers going on in the branches above me. It was all very stealthy – if you don't count the giggling."

I sat down, curling my legs under me, and Alice did the same. "Yeah, Edward's got to stop doing that."

She smiled at my little joke, but it faded quickly.

"I have something to show you. I'm not sure how you'll feel about it, so it's probably better to do it in private. If it bothers you, please just say so."

I threw her a curious glance, as she handed me a large leather-bound book.

"It's a photo album, right? You do realize I don't normally freak out over photographs. I mean, not unless I've been cursed or bewitched or . . . Frenchified – whatever you want to call it."

"I know. Just take a look."

I opened to the first page, and my breath came out in a soft "oh." I studied it for a long time before turning to the next picture and the next, every one more achingly beautiful than the last.

Portraits, mostly. Close-ups of Edward's face from different angles. Light and shadow loved him; he showed them both to their best advantage. There were ones of him with Nessie too, so tender they brought a lump to my throat.

Alice sat patiently while I went through every page, sometimes stopping to trace my fingers over the plastic-covered eight by tens. When I got to the end, I hesitated, awash in mixed emotions. "Alice, these are exquisite . . . beautiful and . . . and heartbreaking."

"I know," she said softly. "I thought you might like a record of those missing days, so you didn't lose that time with Edward completely, and believe me, I tried to catch him when he was fired up or playing with Nessie, but even in those moments, there's something deep in his eyes. It was the same with your photos."

"Mine?"

"You remember, I was always taking pictures. I tried to get you when you were laughing at one of Emmett's lame jokes or lost in a book, but there's that same look in your eyes – haunted, empty – I don't know. I only know I never want to see it again – on either of you."

"You won't," I promised her. "So you made an album like this for Edward too?"

"Actually, I was delivering them one by one, trying to reassure him that you were at least fine physically and that we were keeping you close."

"You really are the best sister anyone could ever have," I said, knowing that the human me would have been fighting back grateful tears. "To both of us. And you are seriously good at this photography business. I mean, these are stunning."

"Well, I can't take all the credit." She gave me her elfin smile. "It's not my fault Edward hogged all the best DNA in the family. I have a bunch more of Nessie that I haven't put together yet. I thought I'd make you another album for your birthday."

"My birthday?"

"Have you looked at a calendar lately, Bella Cullen? While you were French fried – or whatever you called it – tempus was fugiting all over the place! Summer's almost half over, and there's so much to plan for – your wedding anniversary, Nessie's birthday, yours. We need to throw a party – formal, I think - to christen the conservatory when it's finished, and it's not too soon to start thinking about Christmas. Last year we were all so afraid we were doomed that we really didn't do it up right – and we should for Nessie's sake."

"Whoa, Alice, please slow down. In the first place, I see no earthly reason to acknowledge a birthday when I'm not getting any older. Nessie _is_, so yes of course, I want hers to be special. Our anniversary – that's strictly between Edward and me. I refuse to worry about Christmas when people still have flags out for the 4th of July, and who would come to the opening of a greenhouse?"

"Well," she said, addressing the last subject first, "there's us, and we could invite the pack – in human form, of course."

"Like that would make a lot of difference. Can't you just hear the smartass remarks about bringing more plants into the woods, and do you really see them standing around shirtless in their little cutoffs at this 'formal' affair? Good grief, we have a treaty to protect. Why don't you just poke them with sharp sticks and be done with it?"

I'd always counted a certain skill at party-pooping among my meager talents, but Alice has never met a wet blanket she couldn't shrug off.

"Just us then," she agreed with barely a dent in her enthusiasm. "We'll bring the piano in for the evening, and you can wear the gown we designed for you. Believe me, Edward won't know what hit him."

Now she'd found my weak spot.

A chance to dazzle Edward. It would be positively selfish to refuse, especially when just the other night, I'd turned to find him studying me through a pair of horn-rimmed glasses.

A spontaneous "woot," due to the shock and to the fact that he'd remembered my little fantasy, was followed by an appreciative sigh.

"Seriously, these do something for you?"

"Definitely! I know it's crazy. I don't know why they do. You just look super sexy."

"If you like, I can add a couple of hearing aids, maybe some false teeth."

"I don't think that's the nature of the appeal," I'd assured him, laughing. "Maybe it's that they're a tease – another obstacle just begging to be ripped away, so I can get to you."

"Have I mentioned lately, my love, that you're slightly weird?" What should have been an insult registered as pure seduction, thanks to that tone of voice he uses to set my nerves humming.

"Hey, I'm not the one wearing lens-less glasses."

"The better to see you with," he'd growled into the base of my throat. "By all means, rip away, but I'm warning you, there's one thing I'll never let go of," and with that, he had me on top of him, his hands moving down the length of my body, pressing it into his.

"Ever?" I whispered, and he'd answered my question as only Edward can.

I was melting again, just remembering, when I realized Alice was waiting for a response.

"Oh, the dress – yes, I would like to wear it for him. I just realized it's exactly the color he said he likes on me!"

"Well, duh!" she said succinctly.

"Right . . . sorry, I'm just now catching up. Have you heard any more about the competition?"

"Actually, yes. The results were announced yesterday." She shrugged. "We lost."

That was a new reaction. No matter how long the odds, I'd have expected more disappointment. I was pretty sure the "C" in Cullen stood for competitive.

"There must have been thousands of entries," I reminded her, "from a lot of talented people. You shouldn't feel bad about it."

"Well, I didn't mean 'lost' lost, Bella," she said, looking slightly offended. "We came in second, and first place would have been awkward – a full scholarship to the Fashion Institute in New York. Neither one of us would have been up for that."

She gave me her smuggest smile. "Second prize, on the other hand, was $15,000."

I burst out laughing. "You are too much. So what are you going to do with the money?"

"Funny you should ask. We discussed it last night, and I said I might use my share to add to my bead collection. Rose had some choice words about that. She thought since we won it for our design, we should spend it on designer clothes, which made a certain amount of sense."

"So that's what you're going to do – go on a shopping spree?"

"Not exactly. In the middle of this, Esme turns to Carlisle and says, 'Sweetheart, how much did you say the funding was cut for the neo-natal unit?' to which he casually replies, 'About $15,000'."

"Wow, smooth double-teaming by the parental figures. Did it work?"

"Like a charm. I didn't even have to think about it. As soon as they said it, I could see it clear as day – new state-of-the-art incubators being wheeled into the nursery, with pink and blue bows, which, of course, I put there myself. End of problem."

"Well, I have a problem with one of those events you mentioned," I said. "You've been at this vamp thing a lot longer than I have, and I'm not sure if it's a reckless idea or not."

"What's Edward think?"

"I haven't run it past him yet. He's going to want to say yes just to please me, but I don't even want to bring it up if you think it's irresponsible. Nessie's got the best role models in the world to teach her about being an immortal, but she's half human, too. She's going to be a child for such a short time, and there's something she'd enjoy so much, given her infatuation with all the characters and –"

"Bella, spit it out! The suspense is killing me."

I took a deep breath. "I want to take her to Disneyland for her birthday – just the three of us."

"Oh!" After her initial surprise, Alice looked thoughtful – or maybe she was seeing into the future.

"Is it too dangerous – mixing with so many humans?"

"Not necessarily. You're the newborn. Are you going to want to eat somebody?"

"No, of course I'm not. I was thinking more of the exposure – being in all those crowds. Would we stand out too much?"

"Well, I'd definitely grunge it up a bit, so your looks don't draw too much attention."

"I can do that. In fact, I can't believe you're finally recommending it."

She let that pass. "And it wouldn't be all that crowded, because you'd have to wait for a gloomy day anyway. Rain would be even better. The lines will be shorter. I say go for it."

"Really? Okay, I'll ask Edward about it tonight – unless you run into him and he picks it out of your head. Drat, I wanted to bring it up myself."

"Well, we might as well cut to the chase, Bella. Hold it just a minute or two."

This time she was clearly retreating into one of her peculiar trances. It didn't last long, and she was focused on me again, beaming.

"Edward's going to insist on thinking it over, but then he'll say 'yes,' and you're going down there the week of Nessie's birthday, and you'll all have a fantastic time! Oh, but Nessie's going to lose her Cinderella tiara on something called the Grizzly River Run, so you better buy a spare."

"Maybe you should add travel agent to your multi-tasking."

"So that just leaves your anniversary. Have you decided what you're getting for Edward?"

She looked so excited, leaning toward me, her face alight with anticipation, but I had to rein her in. "I'm sorry, Alice. I do have an idea, but it's a real long shot. I have no clue whether anything will come of it."

"Then tell me," she urged. "Maybe I can help."

"You can't, honestly. And it's important that Edward not get a whiff of what I'm up to, because it could be a complete disaster, and if it is, I don't want him ever to know."

"That's awfully mysterious. The first anniversary – it's paper, right?"

"Uh-huh. I Googled it."

"Well, how disastrous can a piece of paper be?"

"You'd be surprised. I'm not going to say anything else about it, and I'd thank you not to even think about what I've said when you're around him."

"If you insist." She hopped off the sofa. "I need to get back up to the house. Are you coming?"

"In a little while." I rose to give her a hug. "Thanks so much for the pictures. It's like getting some of that time apart back again."

As soon as she was gone, I dived for my laptop. I'd already checked my email twice today and – nothing. No luck this time either.

_Be patient,_ I told myself. No response is better than an awful one.

I snapped it shut, wondering if it was time to think of a backup present.

* * *

As usual Charlie came out to meet us as soon as we pulled in the drive. At almost the same time, the neighbors' golden retriever Melvin made one of his frequent Houdini-like escapes from their backyard and barreled towards us, tongue lolling in happy anticipation of a reunion.

"Hey, Melvin, you better stay out of the street," I called, as I extricated Nessie from the back seat.

As usual, he ignored the advice. Thankfully Charlie's street didn't have much traffic. Besides we were good buds, and we hadn't seen each other for a long time.

My dad had just enveloped Nessie and me in a big hug, when Melvin, still about 20 feet away, came to an abrupt halt that even the Ferrari's carbon-ceramic brakes couldn't equal. His hackles rose. His usual smile morphed into a teeth-baring threat, and he growled.

"What's your problem, you goofy mutt?" Charlie chortled.

I knew what his problem was.

It was me. Animals have very acute instincts about their relative place on the food chain, and Melvin had just spotted a predator that could take him down before his teeth unclenched.

_Oh, boy! What now?_

"I bet it's that smell, Dad. It's pretty gross."

"What smell?"

"Whatever's on your hands. What have you been doing?"

Poor Charlie lifted his fingers to his nose and sniffed. "It's hardly noticeable. The same old Hoppes #9 I always use on my guns."

"Well, apparently Melvin doesn't approve. Things smell a lot stronger to dogs."

"So what's your excuse?"

Excellent question. "I don't have a moustache to filter the odor. Let's just go inside."

"You know your mother was very sensitive to smells when she was expecting you. Is there something you're not telling me, Bells?"

_Heaps_, I thought, wondering how to make this stop.

"Now, doggie, you're being very silly," Nessie said in the voice she used to discipline her dolls. She started toward the bristling retriever.

"Stop, honey! Remember what I told you about approaching strange animals."

"It's okay, Momma. He's just scared, but he wants to be friends."

Indeed, Melvin had dropped the Cujo act. His menacing crouch turned into a play bow. His tail started wagging. When Nessie stopped within a few feet of him, he approached and happily sniffed her outstretched fingers. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Guess I better go wash my hands again," Charlie said, frowning.

"I'll stay out here and keep an eye on the situation."

As soon as he was inside, I waved Nessie over to me. Melvin did not accompany her. "Remember what we talked about on the way over?"

"I know, Momma. No going fast. No jumping high. No–"

"Good. I was just checking."

She returned to her new playmate who immediately requested a belly-rub. Did she smell more human than vampire? Or was her scent as unique as she was? Maybe animals didn't merely tolerate her; maybe she had a special gift for communicating with them too.

In any case, when Charlie set down beside me on the porch steps, Nessie was talking quietly and with great animation to Melvin, who stared at her, rapt as a child at story time.

"See, that's why you shouldn't stay away so long. She's talking a blue streak. Last time I saw her, it was just a few words here and there."

"Yeah, kids change pretty quickly all right."

"So, did you and Edward have a good time on your trip? Where'd you go anyway?"

"Oh, you know, different places." That wasn't even a lie. Edward went to New York. I went to Crazytown.

Charlie gave me a knowing look. "I bet you just don't want to admit it, because you were always so down on all that marriage hoopla, but my money's on Niagara Falls."

I laughed. "What makes you say that?"

"Edward. He really is some kind of throwback where tradition is concerned. That fancy ceremony sure wasn't your idea."

"No, but it was the most perfect wedding ever," I agreed. "I kept telling you he was old-fashioned, Dad. You refused to listen."

"Maybe because you kept getting hurt or vanishing. That stuff never happened till he came along."

"Not much of anything ever happened till he came along, and it was more my fault than his. Teenagers are tough to raise, haven't you heard?"

"Yeah, well I grew up watching _Leave it to Beaver_. They made it look like a piece of cake. Except when that Eddie Haskell guy showed up. Remember him? Smooth talking, polite – and the guy behind all the trouble." He nodded sagely. "I should have realized when you said his name was Edward . . . "

"Not funny, Charlie."

He grinned at my withering look. "Just teasing you, Bells. You look great. You're obviously happy. What more could a father hope for?"

"Maybe a better smelling gun-cleaner. Looks like Melvin's got a new pal."

He and Nessie were now lying on their stomachs in the grass eye-to-eye, noses almost touching.

"Well, if you two ever stop running around, you ought to think about getting my granddaughter a dog of her own."

"You know, Dad," I said, pleased not to have lie again, "you'd be surprised how often that subject comes up."

* * *

"I'm telling you, Mr. Cullen, you're gonna need a forklift to get this sucker up there. Why don't you let me and the boys take care of it while we're here? The company's still liable for any damage until it's put in place. After that, you're on your own."

"We'll worry about that later," I said, flipping the tarp back into place. "Thank you for your help."

The men moved off toward their truck, still throwing dubious glances at the humped shape crouching by the driveway. No sooner had they gone, than Emmett appeared beside me.

"This is new. Have the Martians landed or what?"

"No, it's Esme's fountain. Think we can get it up to the greenhouse? It's solid marble."

He gave it a brief glance. "How many men took it off the truck?"

"Five."

Emmett snorted. "Hell, I bet I can do it myself. Come on, how much is it worth to you?"

"I'm not betting, because I don't want to win. Esme will be unhappy if anything happens to it."

"All right, you can help me, little bro." He grinned. "Why didn't they just put it in there in the first place?"

"Minimizing exposure," I reminded him.

Strangers seldom came to the house. Most of the elements needed for the new "conservatory," as Rosalie called it, were prefab. We'd done the work ourselves. Superior strength and speed go a long way toward making up for a lack of training.

"You want to get it inside now – in case it starts raining?"

"It's a fountain, Emmett. It will be fine."

"Okay, then. I'm going into town for some more sealant. You need anything?"

"Thank you, no, but you might check with Esme first. Tell her I inspected it, and it's in perfect condition." I handed him the paperwork and set off around the house.

Rain seemed amazingly unlikely. Sun glinted from the beveled edges of the new glass, soaring a full three stories in Esme's latest creation. Another week or two and we'd have our tropical haven in place.

The feeling that had accompanied me lately – the one that was so difficult to name – wavered at the edges, as I recalled Bella's face when she asked the question. She tried so hard to keep her tone casual, but I could see it – that slight touch of anxiety deep in her eyes.

"How come Esme's building something so elaborate when we won't be staying here that much longer?"

I answered her with the truth. "We have the resources to create what we want for however long we may have to enjoy it."

What I didn't add, was that I'd be lobbying behind the scenes to prolong our stay to the very last possible minute. She was so happy here.

We all were.

Oh, we could leave and hope to return on some distant day to our little cottage. I would make sure Jenks tied it up legally, tighter than an historical monument, but someday when we came back, Charlie wouldn't be here.

She knew it. She'd made the decision to deal with it, but she hadn't _felt_ it.

I would do anything to spare her that moment when she did – throw the entire Cullen fortune at the problem (my part and everybody else's), kill a few people, anything. But the fact was, there wasn't a damned thing I could do to prevent it.

I'd wandered halfway down the back meadow, until I found the ideal spot. The view on this rare day with its blue and white patchwork sky was the kind that sent poets rhapsodizing, but more importantly, I could just catch the musical sound of their voices – my wife and daughter – as they hunted butterflies in a field far across the river. I sat down and stretched out my legs, leaning on my elbows, searching for that elusive feeling again.

Bella was adamant that the past shouldn't be allowed to disturb the perfection of our here and now. I had no idea how she got so smart, but I suspected she wouldn't approve of my letting future heartache spoil it either.

I took a slow, deep breath filled with the scent of nature, of life pulsing around me, and let go of my morbid thoughts.

Happiness. I knew what that was now. It was Bella. Every time I saw her or heard her voice, it swept through me, growing stronger and more entrenched with every minute that we spent together, and lingering with an almost human warmth when we were apart.

I supposed I'd had flashes of it in the past – mere moments, gone before they could be appreciated, but this other sensation was more foreign still. I decided it must be what people call "peace of mind."

For a hundred years, I'd lived on the edge, fighting not to slip back into darkness, so certain I had no place in the light. That constant tension was easing now. The energy could better be reserved for protecting my wife and daughter.

I could sit here appreciating the way the clouds were rimmed with gold. Behind them rays shot silver into the mist still caught in the trees. In the underbrush, small woodland creatures darted, sometimes visible but never, never daring to come close to me.

Peace.

Then, like a dark cloud in my peripheral vision, a figure was heading my way, sashaying actually, while trying to keep her ridiculous high-heeled sandals from sinking into the soil.

Too bad she couldn't just stay planted there like a croquet wicket.

"Well," she said as she drew closer, "if it isn't Mr. 'Oops, I Thought You Were Dead!' Mind if I sit down?"

"It's a free lawn," I said, drawing my legs up, possibly to make myself a smaller target. "'Miss I Was Born to be Worshipped'."

"You got that memo, did you?" she said archly. "I'd never have guessed."

"Every religion has its detractors, Rosalie. Don't let it bother you."

"Oh, I don't." She swished one hand through the soft grass.

It had been my grass a few minutes ago, and I liked it that way. Irritated, I wondered which of my sins had brought on this visitation, but I wasn't about to ask.

"I know what worries you most," she said, "and I've decided you don't need to."

I gave her my blandest look. So help me, if she said my hair, those stilettos were landing in the river, ideally with her still in them.

"But after everything that's happened these last weeks, I'm convinced. Nothing will ever be able to keep you and Bella apart. It can't. You love her too much to let that happen, and I thought I should confess that I actually like that about you."

"You found something to like about me?" I wasn't being facetious. The idea was frankly shocking.

"Well, it took several decades. Give me a few more and I might be able to eke out another one."

"You told me I was an idiot for falling in love with Bella." In fact, that was one of the milder terms she had used back in our junior year of high school.

"You _were_ an idiot. We all could have been exposed. Then you bring the wrath of the nomads down on our heads. One of us could easily have gotten destroyed during that mess. Not to mention stirring up the werewolves and the Volturi. Oh, yeah, Edward, it was a really smart move."

"What, you like me for my idiocy? Do I entertain you that much?"

"You entertain me a lot," she admitted. "Sometimes it's like pulling teeth to goad people in this family into an argument, but you, you're always ready for a fight."

"I think you have me mixed up with Emmett. "

"Different kind of fight," she said dismissively. "Different weapons."

"So you actually like two things about me," I pointed out. "My short temper and the fact that I love Bella. Wait, that second one still makes no sense if you thought it was such a disastrous idea."

Rosalie kicked off her shoes and leaned back, wiggling her lacquered toes in the grass. "It started to make more sense when I realized she was an idiot, too, letting you drag her through all that, always coming back for more. Clearly, you were made for each other."

"I'm losing the part where there's something you like about me."

"Self-centered much?"

Yes, quite a bit, but if she thought I was going to rise to her pot-calling-the-kettle-black bait, she was in for a disappointment. However, she went on without waiting for a rejoinder.

"What I really hated was the way she was so willing to throw away her human life, as if it was nothing, as if it was something I wouldn't have given anything to have. I couldn't imagine anyone more opposite from me."

"Tell me there's a point in this story where you change your mind." I expected her to snap back at me, but it didn't happen.

Beside me, she nodded slowly. "It was when she fought so hard to keep the baby, even though none of us had any idea what it actually was. She was so determined, regardless of what it did to her. She defied everyone, including you to see it through. And I thought, that's what I would have done, given the opportunity. She was exactly like me."

"And being exactly like you is the criterion for acceptance, is that it?" I didn't try to keep the acid out of my tone. If we were being honest here, then it was time I said a few things I'd been biting back.

"Don't pretend it was Bella you cared about all that time. You were fixated on the baby, not Bella's survival. In fact, if she had died, you had visions of keeping the baby for yourself. Please don't forget that I can read minds, even ones I'd prefer to ignore."

"Hell, Edward, you were certifiable," she shot back with a touch of her usual vitriol. "You were so not capable of thinking of anything but Bella. I doubt very much that you were rummaging through our minds as usual."

"I knew enough," I said quietly, lowering my head to my knees. The pain of that time, now so far away, still echoed in my gut when I was forced back there.

For a couple of minutes she said nothing, and I began to hope she'd left, though her scent hadn't faded.

"You're right, of course," she said finally. "I did feel that way. You couldn't think of anything but Bella. Well, I couldn't think of anything but that baby. It was like suddenly I was going to be paid back for all the things I'd missed. Whether Bella lived or died, I was going to bond with this new life, and it would fill the emptiness I still felt inside."

She paused, looking at me, but I didn't raise my head. "I suppose I was certifiable, too, in a way. But then Nessie was born and you saved Bella, and suddenly our family was bigger and stronger and there was so much love. That's when I began to appreciate how right you were to love Bella and to stick with her no matter what. She's a tough little cookie."

I lifted my head. "As always, your approval means everything to me."

It was the kind of sarcastic answer I usually gave her, but I followed it up in a less acerbic tone. "And thank you, by the way, for the dollhouse. You've seen how much Nessie loves it."

"How did you figure out it was me?"

"Actually, Bella did."

"Not much gets past her, does it?" Rosalie actually smiled. "It seemed like the simplest way. I didn't do it for the thanks, and while we're on that subject, I found the music . . . _Rose's Song._"She concentrated on unearthing a little stone with one perfectly manicured finger_. _"It upset me."

_Of course it did_. "I was afraid it might," I said.

"People used to tell me how beautifully I played all the time. So what happens? I end up in a family that hardly notices, because the Boy Wonder can play anything he hears better than the pianist he heard it from, and when he gets bored with that, he composes his own. Can you see why I might be a little jealous?"

"I don't do it to offend you, Rose. It's just a weird quirk I was born with. We all have them. Did you ever stop and think I might be envious of your long, blond hair?"

She grinned at me sardonically. "God, you are such a bull-shitter."

"I could switch to the banjo or maybe the accordion if it would make you feel better."

The pebble she'd been holding whizzed through the air, bounced off my temple and landed in the grass.

"That's not why I was upset when I found the music. It upset me because it was such a . . . a decent thing to do, and I couldn't even acknowledge it. You weren't there, because Bella and her lunatic behavior were keeping you away from your own home and family. For a minute, all my old resentment towards her flared up again. I think I said something bitchy."

"That must have come as a shock."

"Under the circumstances, it probably did. She really didn't deserve it."

"Bella's had to withstand a lot of things she didn't deserve. She's good at it." And since we were being honest, I added, "The title was actually her idea."

I half expected her to bristle and turn snarky again, but she smiled. "As I said, she doesn't miss a trick. I knew you weren't thinking of me when you wrote it – not enough dissonance, but anyway – thank you. I haven't tried to play it yet."

"Why not? You can do it."

"It's a little complicated. I'm going to have to fumble around for a while before I get it right, and in case you haven't noticed, I don't much care for looking like a fool in front of other people."

"There's nothing foolish about practicing something until you're good at it. Do you suppose my immense talent for bullshitting came without effort?"

And suddenly I found myself telling her about the conversation I'd had with Vera on that long ago night in New York, my excuses for refusing her girls' sexual favors. All of it – embarrassing as it was.

She didn't pretend not to thoroughly enjoy the story. "Omigod, Edward – a medical condition? Religious vows? I can just see you trying to keep your cool and failing."

"Utterly," I admitted.

"And the irony," she said, still grinning, "is that you turned out to be telling the truth."

She was right. At the time, saving myself for marriage had seemed like the most far-fetched excuse of them all. Marriage wasn't a remote possibility, even in the context of forever. No one suspected I was lying, except me of course, and I was dead wrong.

"Thank God for that," I muttered.

"God, huh?" Rosalie said, her smile fading. "Does this mean you've decided you have a soul after all?"

"The jury's still out. Where do you stand on the subject, Rose? Do you think you still have one?"

She stood, picking up her shoes, and looked down at me with an expression I'd never seen her wear before. "I don't know. I think the real question is, did I ever have one?"

I opened my mouth to say something, what I'm not sure. Such a rare glimpse behind her arrogant facade deserved a response.

I'd have to think about it. I was still too stunned that she'd opened up at all to analyze what she'd told me or what she needed to hear from the rest of us. Somewhere in there, she'd actually said something positive.

That was a first, but it paled in comparison to the realization that in over 70 years, this was the longest conversation I'd ever had with my sister.

* * *

Nessie had gone to sleep. Edward was lying with his head in my lap studying the soil requirements of exotic plants, and I was studying Edward.

All was right with the world, till somebody knocked on the cottage door.

"No!" I protested, almost involuntarily. "Who comes visiting this late?"

Edward smiled up at me. "It's eight o'clock. Not an unreasonable hour even for people who sleep at night."

"But I like it being just us. If we don't answer, maybe they'll go away."

"Won't work," he said, nipping me playfully on the jaw as he rose for a split-second trip to the door. "This particular visitor might huff and puff and blow our house down."

Sure enough. There stood Jake. At least he had the decency to look embarrassed.

"Sorry, guys. I was halfway back to La Push when I discovered I still had this in my pocket. I was carrying it for Ness. Didn't want her to wake up and miss it. "

I made it to the doorway in time to have my hand out as soon as he wrestled it from his pocket – a scrap of purple cloth wrapped loosely around a flat rectangle.

"It's one of those dollhouse surprises," he said. "Funny thing is she found it way out by Moriarty Road. All the rest have been right around your place."

"Thank you, Jacob," Edward said. "We'll put it where it will be the first thing she sees when she wakes up."

"Did you want to come in, Jake?"

"Nah, I got stuff to do."

I tried not to look relieved. "Like what?"

He grinned. "It's a tossup between studying calculus and howling at the moon. Right now, the moon's winning."

"Bad choice," I called, as he tossed back a "have a goodnight, you two" and sprinted off through the forest.

"I can't believe he's taking advanced courses – in the summer."

"He's worried about keeping up with our daughter." Edward closed the door, and we returned to our cozy nest on the couch.

"He's plenty smart," I said. "All he needed was a little motivation." I pulled aside the purple wrapping in my hand to reveal a miniature landscape painting, complete with gold-colored frame. "Oh, this is darling! Just the right size for the dollhouse."

"May I?"

Edward took it from me, and I went on. "She could hang it over the mantle in the living room or maybe in the dining room. I can't believe how sophisticated her doll furniture is. All mine was basic plastic stuff. Of course, I didn't have a Victorian mansion either. Mine was more Barbie trailer park." I glanced at Edward who had a peculiar look on his face. "What?"

"Did you look at this picture, Bella?"

I thought I had. It was a typical landscape, wasn't it? Lovely scenery, someplace quaint. I took a closer look, and unease crept through me. "Is that . . . Volterra?"

"Yes."

Of course. I'd seen it with my own eyes as Alice blazed a hectic path through the Italian countryside, although it hadn't really registered in my panicky condition. "That's a little creepy, unless someone meant it as a joke."

"Cullens generally have a better sense of humor," Edward said grimly.

"Well, there's Emmett. Maybe it's meant to be ironic."

"Emmett and irony? I don't think so."

I thought a minute, and someone better left forgotten slithered into my imagination. "Wait, is it a real painting? Could Rupert French have done it, while he was hanging around Forks?"

For the first time, Edward's expression lightened, and he pulled me close. "No. I don't want you to be afraid. French didn't even know about Nessie, much less the dollhouse gifts, and it's not a real painting. I'd guess it was cut from a travel brochure."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "But that leaves the other usual suspects. Is there some way Felix or Dimitri could have done it while they were here? They're big on handing out dire warnings."

"They are, but this is far too subtle for them, and they weren't here long enough to know about the doll furniture. " He began kissing my furrowed brow. "You're always telling me not to over-think things, and that's what we're doing. We don't know that it's a warning. I will find out who did it and why, so stop worrying – right now."

I did, at least for that night. If Edward could package his distraction abilities, and sell them on the open market, we'd all be rich. But we _are _rich, and that may be a good thing because I prefer to be the only object of the patented Edward Cullen method.

I couldn't help returning to the question the next day. None of our answers really fit, which didn't mean there was necessarily some sinister motive behind the picture, but I'd thought we were done with having to unravel mysteries for a while.

I knew Edward must have been questioning the family throughout the morning, as they prepared the new conservatory for planting, but he hadn't said anything.

He and Nessie were deep in conversation out in our little garden, giving me the chance to check my email again, giving me the golden opportunity to have my hopes dashed one more time.

When the two of them came in, it was only long enough for Edward to kiss us both goodbye. "Jasper and Emmett and I are off to Port Angeles. We'll be back at the house in a few hours. I'll be home for Nessie's bedtime. Don't plan anything for tonight." He threw in a wink for emphasis.

"That's too bad, I already had something planned for tonight." I hoped my smile was seductive enough to get my point across and subtle enough not to scar my child for life.

"Our daughter has something she'd like to tell you," he added with an expression I didn't quite understand.

"So what's up, sweetie?" I asked when the door had shut behind him.

For the first time I noticed she seemed uncomfortable. Her usual open, cheerful features were clouded by some other emotion I wasn't used to seeing there. Still, she snuggled up beside me, warm and sweet-smelling.

"How can you tell good lies from bad lies, Momma?"

_Uh-oh, what have you left me with here, Edward?_

This had all the hallmarks of a really important parent-child conversation, made all the more problematic by our peculiar circumstances in the world.

"We should always try hard not to tell them," I began. "Sometimes, because of who we are and the way people don't always understand, we have to avoid the truth, but it's important to remember that when we do that, we aren't hurting anyone else and it helps protect our family."

"What about joke lies?"

"Joke lies? Like what?"

Her answer didn't make things one bit clearer. "Do you know Jacob doesn't believe in fairies?"

"Did he tell you that?"

It was hard to imagine Jake raining on any parade that Nessie chose to march in, but if he had, I was going to have a word with him. Next he might be telling her there was no Santa Claus! I'd pretended to believe in Santa, long after I'd realized the truth – because it was more fun that way. I wanted Nessie to have those same options.

"No, but I can tell. One day, I was searching out in the forest, and he said, I shouldn't bother because the surprises were always, always close to home."

_Okay_. I cut him a little slack in my mind. He hadn't wanted her to be disappointed.

"I said there were probably lots more presents out in the woods because no one could see the fairies there and try to catch them. He said he didn't think so, and I said 'you think they're people presents, don't you', and he said if they were, I should be happy someone bought them for me, and I should thank them."

"Well, different people believe different things," I offered. "That doesn't mean they're lying."

"Oh, I lied for real, Momma. I wanted Jacob to think I was right and he was wrong."

"You mean, you wanted to convince him that fairies hid the presents?"

"Well, it might have been brownies," she conceded, "or even elves. I just wanted Jacob to watch me find one way, way out in the woods."

"I see. So what did you do?"

"I found the little picture under a bush – right outside, and when Jacob came to play I hid it in my jacket. Then when we got far, far away, at a place that he says only he knows about, I pretended I found it there! I said, 'ha-ha – fairies!' and he looked sooooo surprised. It was funny, Momma. Was that a bad lie? It didn't hurt anyone. I'd never hurt Jacob. He's my best friend!"

Poor Jake. "I know, but there are different kinds of hurt. Do you know I used to be really clumsy? I was always dropping things or falling down."

"Did you get hurt?" Immediately, her sweet face was full of sympathy.

"Not usually, but the thing was I guess I looked pretty funny when I fell down, and some people would laugh. That hurt my feelings, so you need to be sure your jokes don't make people feel bad."

She was thoughtful for a moment. "I don't think Jacob feels bad. He laughs a lot, but I'll tell him I'm sorry anyway – just in case."

"That would probably be a good idea."

None of this solved the mystery of who would have given her that picture.

"Can we hang it up in my dollhouse now?"

"Sure. I think we have some sticky stuff in the desk." I rose and went to look for it. "Have you decided where you want it to go?"

"On top of the fireplace where everybody can see."

"You must really like it."

"I do. It looks like the pictures in my fairy tale book, only it's a really truly place."

I rummaged through the drawer, finding what I wanted and looked back at her. "What makes you say that?"

"Because it's where Aro lives. He showed me when all the vampires came to have a big fight, but then they didn't."

"Because of you," I said, returning to sit beside her, smoothing her curls with an anxious touch. I had so hoped she wouldn't realize the significance of that scene. If it was meant as a warning, she shouldn't have to worry about it.

"It's way prettier than the first one," she added, examining the little can of putty in my hand. "That looks like Playdough."

"The first what, sweetie?"

"There was a different picture in the frame. I didn't like that one, so I got the old magazines Aunt Alice gave me and looked for a better one. There was a really cute one of kittens, Momma, but when I cut it out, it was too big. Then I found this little tiny magazine, only two pages long, with a pretty mountain and Aro's house on top."

A travel brochure. Just what Edward had said. Alice had probably snagged it out of the borrowed Porsche. I felt almost giddy with relief. "You put that photo in there yourself?"

"Was that okay?"

"Well . . . yes, of course. It's your picture. What was wrong with the first one?"

"I'll show you." At a very inhuman speed, she was off to her bedroom and back again. "See, you just put it in here."

She showed me how the cardboard slid off the back. Out fluttered Volterra and a heavier piece of cardstock with another well-known scene.

I burst out laughing.

"It's like a cartoon, Momma. It doesn't go in my pretty room."

"I have to agree with you. I think it was meant to be a joke." And I was pretty sure who the joker was. Hadn't Alice and I discussed this very masterpiece only weeks ago?

"It is pretty funny," Nessie admitted, "and it didn't hurt my feelings. I bet fairies could teach dogs how to play cards if they wanted to."

"I'm sure they could," I said, giving her a squeeze. "Have I told you yet today how much I love you?"

She giggled. "You and daddy are funny. That's the very same thing he said when I told him about the pictures."

"I'll just bet he did. Now, let's go do some interior decorating."

* * *

He swept me from the water, droplets spangling the air like jewels, and held me up against the full white disc of the moon, his hands nearly encircling my waist.

"Quicksilver," he murmured, gazing up at me, as I pledged to keep the expression on his face locked in my heart forever.

A sigh followed my descent as I slid slowly down his wet body to rest my head against his chest.

"Sometimes I could swear my heart is still beating – like crazy," I confided. "I know it isn't possible."

"Physically, no."

I thought about that for a minute. Here, safe in his arms, with moonlight slipping across the water of our little pond, it was easy to let my imagination soar. "But the things that poets say are locked in our hearts – love and joy and passion– it's like they've broken free to touch everything around us."

"I sense them all the time," Edward whispered into my hair.

"This is so perfect," I said, setting out to kiss every single droplet of water from his delicious chest.

"Slightly shallower than the Atlantic."

"It's better, because it's all ours," I insisted. "But we will go back to Isle Esme, won't we?"

"Do you actually want to?" He relaxed against the pool's edge, turning me in his arms to rest against him.

"Why would you even ask that? Of course, I do!"

"Why would I ask? Bella, are you sure you're memory's fully recovered? You spent most of our time there bruised, deathly sick and terrified. That's hardly what most people want from a tropical vacation."

"I'm not most people," I reminded him. "Besides, the best moments of my entire human life happened there, too. Of course, I want to go back, but I guess we'll have to wait till Nessie's grown."

"Not necessarily. Carlisle still feels we should all go to South America as soon as possible to learn what we can about others like her. A stop in Rio – you and I slip off for a day or two on the island – perfectly doable."

I shivered with delight at the prospect. "I would love that! We could celebrate our anniversary there. You know, I used to think eternity was a long time, but my calendar is filling up pretty fast. A trip to South America. That's pretty epic."

"Speaking of South America," Edward said, squeezing me tighter. "A good portion of the Amazonian jungle is still waiting to be planted. I need to get up to the house."

"Now? It's the middle of the night!"

"And your point would be?" He pressed one of those prom-type kisses into my neck, effectively short-circuiting my ability to protest, and before I regained it, we were back in the house getting dressed, and he was gone.

I checked on Nessie who, as usual at this hour, was deep in sleep. I kissed her forehead, tucked the covers around her and went in search of my laptop. It was right where I'd left it on the little writing desk in our parlor.

Thank goodness, Edward wasn't the kind of husband to snoop through his wife's email. He just wouldn't do it, so at least I didn't have to worry about him coming on some horrible response that would make things worse rather than better.

I'd about given up on getting any response at all, but I'd put a lot of time into this project, joining websites, sending out inquiries. I took the computer to the sofa, giving it my best intimidating glare as I did so in hopes it might make a difference.

Two emails in my inbox. The first one from Renee. I skimmed it just enough to see that she and Phil were fine and that some TV guru had convinced her we should immediately eliminate something called gluten from Nessie's diet. I'd deal with that later.

The second was from a name I didn't recognize. It could be the kind of message I'd been hoping for, or it could be a ferocious virus about to eat everything on my hard drive. I took a deep breath and clicked.

My first, lightning-fast vampish impression was that it was long for an email; surely a virus didn't need that many words to launch an attack. And bad news could be told in one short sentence.

With cautious optimism, I began to read, forcing myself to go slowly.

_Dear Mrs. Cullen,_

_Your message was relayed to me, and I was instantly intrigued. The discovery that a stranger, thousands of miles away, might have grown up on the same family stories as I did has got to be the upside of this too-much-information age._

_I should start by introducing myself. My name is Richard W. Canning II. I'm a professor of music at the University of Boston, and Evelyn Weiss was my paternal grandmother. _

_As you've probably guessed, she is no longer with us, but you might be surprised by the number of people who feel her loss. Gram touched a lot of lives in a very positive way, and I'm confident in saying that she enjoyed a full, happy life before passing away quietly in 1998, just months after my grandfather's death._

I sat back for a moment, closing my eyes. Thank, God! So much for my irrational fears that Evelyn might have been killed in a tragic road accident before she ever got out of New York or that the murder of her father had turned her into a bitter recluse.

I started reading again more quickly. Back in Danbury, she'd given piano lessons and eventually contacted a prominent school for the blind to offer her help. A member of their board, a Dr. Richard Canning, had answered that letter and two years later they were married. They had three children, a daughter Elise, and two sons, Charles and . . . Edward.

At that point, I had to stop for a moment, overcome with emotion. It could very well be a coincidence. I seemed to recall Edward saying that Evelyn's father was called Charles, so the boys could have been named after their grandfathers.

I resumed reading. There were now seven grandchildren and twelve great-grandchildren, several very much into music, but I skimmed the details for now, searching for the link that had made all this possible. My new email friend had left the best for last.

_The simple facts in your inquiry – her name, New York City in 1931, a blind girl who played the piano – would have been sufficient to establish a connection between our families, but you see, Gram often mentioned your husband's grandfather to her own children and to theirs when we were growing up._

_When any of us felt discouraged, she was the one we went to. She'd talk about her own low point, when her father was dying and she felt very much alone. Music had always been her comfort, but she'd lost touch even with that, and then one night, a stranger came out of the rain. He took an interest, encouraged her. She said it made all the difference._

_That was the moral of her story – that we should never give up, because any minute fate might deliver just what we needed to find our footing again. It generally worked for me. Even if that fateful person or thing went unnoticed, simply watching for it kept me from feeling sorry for myself long enough to get my act together. _

_Her corollary to that advice was the reminder that we might be that catalyst for someone else, even someone who was in our lives for only a brief time. It stuck with me – that idea that you might affect other people in some lasting way – constructive or destructive – and never even be aware of it. It's a good point for a teacher to keep in mind. Gram certainly believed it. She named her second son after a man she knew for only a few short months._

_I don't mean to make it sound like she was one of those pontificating old people, who bore you with the good old days. She was actually light-hearted and always enthusiastic about helping other people, especially the blind. I could scan you some clippings about the civic awards she collected, if you're interested, though her favorite prize was one she and my grandfather got for dancing. _

_He apparently knew how to "cut a rug", Richard Canning the first. When he started courting Gram, he wasted no time in teaching her every crazy dance they did back then, and she took to it with a passion. They were quite the party animals in their youth._

_It wasn't till we were much older, although still young and ghoulish enough to appreciate the drama of it, that she told us her father had been murdered, and that once again her "knight-in-shining-armor" had appeared at the precise moment she needed him most._

_The other peculiar thing I remember about that story is that Gram was under the impression this mysterious friend – this Edward – was deformed in some way or maybe just very homely. I don't know where she got that notion, but Great-Aunt Fiona, who'd actually seen him a couple of times, insisted he was one of the handsomest men she'd ever laid eyes on. Figure that one out._

_Oh, and one other bit of trivia - when your email was making the rounds of our family, my cousin Eric pointed out that he has Gram's old Victrola, the one your husband's grandfather gave to her. She loved that thing. It sat on display in her living room right next to the CD player long after it ceased to function. _

_The music gene skipped over Eric entirely, but he's a damned fine electrician – hence the heirloom. He's got it working like new, and for some reason all the kids think it's incredibly cool._

_At any rate, I'd be happy to answer any questions you or your husband might have, and if you ever get back east, we'd love to offer our hospitality. We could bring out the old photo albums, so you could see what Gram looked like back in the day. _

_And, of course, we'd like to hear more about the mysterious Edward. I don't recall Gram ever mentioning what he did for a living or even his surname. _

_I look forward to hearing from you again._

_Yours, _

_Rich Canning_

That last part would be tricky. It was only fair to elaborate on our end of the story when they'd been kind enough to tell us their part. I wondered if I would be any better at lying on paper than I was in person. Better to leave it for Edward to decide what to say.

The thought of being less than honest with these nice people brought a twinge of guilt, but it was short-lived. As I'd told Nessie, sometimes lies were necessary because of who we were, and I needed to get used to that too.

For now, I wrote a response saying how much I appreciated his willingness to share the family's history and how I planned to surprise my husband with the missing pieces of a story that had fascinated three generations. Would it be possible to email a picture or two of Evelyn – maybe on her wedding day or with her own little Edward?

When I'd sent it off, I breathed a sigh of relief. Mission accomplished. I'd print out the best parts – maybe on some really nice paper – and tie it with a velvet ribbon, like _Rose's Song. _That would be my anniversary present for Edward.

Nothing fancy. Nothing expensive. Just a little bit of proof that even in those dark times that haunted him, he'd touched someone with his humanity and that simple gesture had rippled outward, making the world brighter.

Suddenly, I really wanted him back here – just to hold and caress and whisper in his ear all the ways I adored him, but he might not be home for hours.

I looked in on Nessie again. She appeared to be in the exact same position she was in the last time I checked, so I puttered around her room, straightening things just so, half hoping she'd wake up and keep me company. Of course, she didn't.

Nothing else in the cottage seemed to require my attention, if you didn't count the deplorable condition of our bed, and I didn't. Who really needed a complete headboard anyway?

Finally, I gave up and pulled out my cell phone. Edward answered on the first ring.

"Is something wrong?"

"No," I said, "I just wanted to hear your voice. How's everything going?"

"I miss you too. Everything's going smoothly."

"Don't listen to him, Bella!" Alice yelled in the background. "It's a jungle in here!"

"And they sent us a faulty rubber tree," another voice boomed close to the phone. "I've checked it from top to bottom and there isn't a single –"

There was an "oomph" sound and then farther away a squishy sort of thud.

"Score, Edward!" That was Jasper. "One point for the smack down. One for awesome accuracy on the landing."

"Emmett, for heaven's sake, get out of there," I could hear Esme scolding. "We need every bit of that fertilizer."

I grinned into my phone. "Sounds like a model of efficiency."

"Pretty much. All I have to do is persuade a few epiphytes to wrap themselves around a Brugmansia or two, and I'll be done here."

"Are you sure that's not illegal in Washington state?"

"Doesn't matter. They need each other, and remind me to speak to you about this disturbing trend of hearing double entendres in everything I say."

"You're the one saying them – talking dirty in front of your whole family."

"Bella, you don't know from dirty. Now, Emmett, he's absolutely filthy. Be glad you don't have to smell him."

There was some more commotion in the background, punctuated by raucous laughter and a squeal or two. Esme must have given up trying to bring order to this work crew.

"Now, the sooner I finish here, the sooner I'll be home."

"I've heard that one before. Okay, I'll let you get back to work, but only if you promise to play brugamania and epithingies – or whatever they were – with me when you get back here."

"Be careful what you wish for," he whispered in a tone so ridiculously seductive, I involuntarily scrunched into a ball on the sofa. "You have no idea what those two do to each other. Try to imagine." And he hung up.

Arghh! I was half tempted to retrieve my laptop and look them up, if I could figure out the spelling, but I doubted that whatever they did was anywhere near as exciting as Edward made it sound.

Besides, I'd be better off avoiding those kinds of thoughts until he got here. A book, that's what I needed. I hadn't actually picked one up since my emotions – and subsequently my life – had fallen back into place.

My favorites were all back in the little bookcase. I ought to branch out a little more, especially now that I didn't need those old friends to rescue me from my terrifying solitude.

Edward's books were mostly non-fiction, not that he didn't appreciate literature. I suspected he had every novel worth reading over the last century tucked away somewhere in his unique mind.

Some of the titles were intriguing but they lacked that quality I had most searched for in a book over the last few years – a hero I could envision as Edward. It wasn't always easy.

For Heathcliff, I had to picture Edward at his most angry and sarcastic. Rochester was a particular challenge because he was supposed to be ugly, so I just blocked that part out. Darcy, on the other hand, was a piece of cake.

Nothing really hit my fancy. Then I remembered the book Renee had sent me for Christmas. Our taste in literature didn't often coincide, but I felt a little bad about not at least giving it a try.

There it was at the end of a shelf, pristine and lonely. I picked it up and leafed through the first few pages. Well, how bad could a novel be, when it had been on the New York Times Bestseller list for such a long time?

Returning to the sofa, I curled up and began to read. Even if the story didn't capture my interest, I'd be able to quote some part of it to Renee, so she didn't feel her gift was unappreciated, and before long, my own hero would walk through that door.

At first, I didn't think I'd be able to play my usual game of envisioning Edward in the lead, the only way I could really get invested in the love story.

This novel started out in an old folks' home, for crying out loud. One thing Edward would never be was old. But the writing was good, so I kept at it, and soon the plot flashed back several decades.

After that, I had no trouble picturing the protagonist as my personal ideal. I was deeply involved in the story – that is, until a small, unidentifiable sound in the forest told me the real thing was on his way.

I flew to the door, and he caught me up in his arms. Either Emmett had gotten his revenge or Edward had dispensed with his usual fastidiousness in order to get back to me as quickly as possible. He was covered with what I sincerely hoped was mostly potting soil, and now so was I.

"I don't know what you've been doing while I was gone," he teased with that semi-smile that made everything around us disappear, "but you're in serious need of a shower, Bella."

I beamed at him, wordlessly. As usual, he was absolutely right.

_**A/N: Oops! I didn't notice till I was at work, and unable to do anything about it, that the dividers I used between the four vignettes above didn't "take." Sorry for the confusion. I just put in the very elegant line that this site provides instead. (The original was much cuter.) Hope it helps.**_


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